


Masquerade

by Vellaen



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Persona 5 Spoilers, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vellaen/pseuds/Vellaen
Summary: An appointment is made.An appointment is missed.A girl attends Shujin Academy, grieving and broken and alone.Akira Kurusu has a talent for helping lost causes find their footing, but even the leader of the Phantom Thieves has his work cut out for him this time. How do you help someone who doesn't think they're worth helping?
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Yoshizawa Sumire, Kurusu Akira & Yoshizawa Sumire, Kurusu Akira/Yoshizawa Sumire, Persona 5 Protagonist/Yoshizawa Sumire
Comments: 237
Kudos: 642





	1. Boy Meets Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue will be familiar to those who've played the game. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Once upon a time, Akira Kurusu enjoyed riding the train. Three days in Tokyo had managed to sour that experience, right along with most other aspects of his life. The indignity of being manhandled by an usher into an already-full rail car was bad. Shouldering through the oppressive crowds in Shibuya Station during morning rush hour to make his Ginza Line transfer was worse.

If he managed to avoid stumbling into any innocent natives who followed the traffic patterns far better than he did, or getting bowled over by any of the oblivious suits who somehow navigated the station with their noses affixed to their smartphones, it wasn’t much better. His reward for reaching the platform on time was to join the waiting press of urban humanity, staking out a half-meter square in the midst of everyone else’s idle chatter and gossip.

“Isn’t that her?” a girl to his right was saying to the teenage boy beside her. Both wore Shujin uniforms.

“You mean that one with the red hair?” the guy replied, glancing over as he stifled a yawn. “Uh, I guess so.”

“She’s so thin…” the girl went on. Her stage whisper maintained a frustrating pitch that made it harder to ignore than regular conversation. “It’s not fair; I’ve been growing my hair out, too.”

Akira frowned, fixing his stare on the digital clock above the tracks. It was unlikely anyone was paying attention, but when pretending not to eavesdrop, one was always wise to observe the proper forms.

“Okay, and what’s that got to do with being thin?” her friend replied, his confusion an unwitting echo of Akira’s own thoughts. Further conversation was obviated by the rattle of wheels and the screech of compression brakes as the train arrived. The doors opened to allow the waiting crowd to be subsumed by the even greater mass within.

Once inside, Akira found himself in the comfortable position of having one shoulder pressed against the closed door. That was relative, of course; bare metal was not a forgiving cushion, but he vastly preferred that to being pressed up against other people on all sides. The wall of the train didn’t care how hard you leaned to stay steady through a turn, and it was reassuringly difficult to accidentally grope sheet steel.

He also discovered the subject of the two gossips from the platform. A girl in a Shujin uniform with striking red hair had been hidden from his view at the very front of the crowd. From that spot, she'd been lucky enough to slip into an open seat by the door, leaving her directly beside him. Her proximity allowed Akira a close look, and he found himself taking advantage of the opportunity from the corner of his eye.

She was certainly thin, as the jealous busybody had observed, but it was her athleticism that stood out. Even at rest, her posture was flawless and balanced. Her long, unbound hair swayed with the motion of the train, but every other part of her was still. He might have said she was calm, but even with her eyes closed behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, there was a tension to her expression that stood out. Beneath her Shujin uniform – worn by the book from collar to hem, as meticulously rule-abiding as his own – her bearing was rigid.

Disquieted, and more than a little self-conscious to realize he was staring, Akira forced himself to look away. Even amidst the staccato _kuh-lick kuh-lack_ of the moving train and the vague susurrus of half a hundred people crammed into a metal box, he felt hyper-aware, including an indecipherable whispering in the back of his mind. It came from a place he was starting to recognize as where Arsène resided while Akira was in the real world. Ever since he’d awakened to his Persona the previous day, it was as though his mind was itching like a healing wound. Instead of being distracting, however, it made him even more cognizant of the details of his surroundings. But like most itches you couldn’t scratch, it came and went with maddening inconsistency.

Akira’s attention was drawn once more as the girl stood up.

“Would you like to take my seat?” she said, speaking politely to an older woman with a shopping bag in each hand. “My station’s coming up.”

“Are ya sure? Well, then…” the old lady smiled, but in the very instant the girl stepped aside to make room, a blue business suit darted through Akira’s line of sight, as one of Tokyo’s millions of anonymous, interchangeable salarymen claimed the empty seat for himself.

The girl’s head jerked around, drawn by the movement. She blinked owlishly behind her glasses, revealing a pair of eyes that were an even more arresting red than her hair. Her surprise was replaced with apprehension. “Excuse me, sir, but that seat—” Her voice, already hesitant, trailed off when the man blatantly ignored her, his head nodding down in a rude parody of sleep. “Oh…”

Akira quirked an eyebrow. Before he could think better of it, he spoke up. “Want me to wake him up?"

He tried not to feel _too_ smug about the twitch that got out of the seat-thief.

The girl’s expression shifted once more to surprise when she realized he had spoken up on her behalf. Her gaze darted up and down, taking him in with a fleeting, wary curiosity that made Akira somehow want to discard his slouch and jump out of the moving train at the same time. “No, that’s all right, thank you,” she said. With a last glance that was there and gone in the span of a blink, she turned back to the old woman. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

“It’s all right, dearie. Nothing _you_ need to apologize for there,” the lady replied, managing to be both gracious to the girl and scornful of the opportunist in the same tone. Akira was unashamed to see an even bigger flinch from the salaryman than his own far less subtle threat had elicited.

“Could I hold your bags for you, for a little while at least?”

“Thank you,” the woman said, handing over the bags one by one. “Careful, though, they’re heavy!”

For the first time, something almost like a smile made its way into the girl’s expression. “Don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look.” Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the smile turned sour. “Physically, I mean. I do a lot of training.”

The old woman didn’t seem to know what to say to that. That was understandable; for his part, Akira wasn’t sure what to feel. Suppressing a frown, he looked out the window at the walls of the subway tunnel, watching in silence as the slabs of blank concrete sped past.

By the time he disembarked, distracted by navigating the marginally less imposing crowds of Aoyama-Itchome, he had all but forgotten the encounter on the train. A sensation of movement at his back made him stop and turn; otherwise he might have missed the hesitant voice from behind him.

“Um, excuse me…” the girl from the train caught up at a brisk jog. She stopped a short distance away without ever quite meeting his eyes. She hid her discomfort well, with a bow that was as impeccably precise as the rest of her posture. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Akira asked, wondering what part of his involvement was deserving of thanks. He reached up to tug at a lock of his bangs to hide his confusion, an old tell he had never quite managed to stamp out.

“Well, for…” She bit her lip, her expression painfully uncertain. “You stood up for me.”

He blinked. This girl had a curiously low threshold for gratitude, and Akira felt like he’d just brained himself on it. Or maybe she was just a bit over-scrupulously polite? There were far worse faults to possess, he supposed.

She rose from her bow at last, and while her eyes still wouldn’t meet his, they appeared to at least rise high enough to take in the emblem on his blazer. “You’re a second-year at Shujin, yes? I’m a first-year there. I meant to thank you on the train, but I just… Well, I didn’t want to be rude to my senpai. Please excuse me.”

Before he could even manage a “you’re welcome,” the nameless girl bowed once more and ran off. Akira watched her go, unsettled by the sight of her hunched shoulders for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Swallowing a sigh, he made his way out of the station. Another day at Shujin Academy was waiting, and it couldn’t possibly be more eventful than his first. He hoped.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

His future was threatened with a looming expulsion. His tentative new friends had bared old wounds and endured personal tragedy to awaken their will to fight back against injustice. He was skirting the razor’s edge of his probation to obtain “customized” medicine and “enthusiast” model weapons. He was now roommates with a talking cat that followed him to school. It had been a busy week.

Getting called out by his teacher at the end of homeroom was an additional point of stress that Akira could really do without.

“Kurusu-kun. A word with you, please?”

Akira followed Ms. Kawakami into the hallway, his every effort focused on keeping his expression bland and unaffected. The whispers throughout the school were persistent and aggravating enough without fueling the fire by snapping at anyone for real, especially a teacher. Shujin Academy’s de facto king wanted him literally gone and metaphorically dead twice over; there was no benefit in antagonizing his homeroom teacher more than what his detour on the first day of school had done already, no matter how satisfying the outburst might be. Considering how weary she looked, it would probably just make him feel worse.

Akira’s anxiety spiked as his teacher led him towards the guidance office. Just when he felt the palms in his pockets begin to sweat, Kawakami stopped and turned. “There’s something I’d like to ask you,” she said. “It won’t take long.” The possibility she’d just chosen this hallway for a quiet word was a greater relief than it should have been.

Before she could continue, and well before Akira could wrestle his heart rate back to normal, the door to the guidance office opened. Suguru Kamoshida stepped out, inciting an involuntary and entirely unhelpful burst of fresh adrenaline. Inside Akira’s mind, Arsène stirred against a threat. Inside his pocket, he felt his right hand twitch, longing for a dagger that refused to materialize.

The red-haired girl from the train a few days ago followed Kamoshida out of the office, and Akira felt himself freeze right down to the very blood in his veins. It was like being pinned to the ground by a Shadow in front of a helpless Ryuji, seeing Shiho on the edge of the roof, and Ann shackled to Saint Andrew’s cross all at the same time. It was a feat to maintain a calm façade, while every gut instinct he had was screaming _threat!_ and _danger!_ and _hostage!_ The part of Akira that was most aware in the Metaverse kept track of the volleyball coach in his peripheral vision, even as he focused on the girl. She was staring at the ground in front of her, arms held stiff at her sides and hands clenched into fists. Her face was as carefully blank as his own.

Fortunately, Kamoshida chose to interpret Akira’s distraction as aloof indifference, sparing him only a brief sneer before turning to Kawakami. “I see you’re already getting on top of the problem I’d mentioned this morning. I appreciate the support.”

The girl glanced up; a spark of something unidentifiable crossed her otherwise controlled expression as she offered Akira a polite nod. “Thank you again,” she said.

Kamoshida turned his head. “You know this guy, Yoshizawa?”

A glimmer of unease passed over her face when she seemed to finally absorb the full situation around her. “Yes, he lent me a helping hand earlier,” she said blandly, trying to play down her earlier words, as innocuous as they were to begin with.

Kamoshida’s eyes narrowed at Yoshizawa in a look that Akira liked not all. “I recommend you steer clear of the likes of him if you have any consideration for your future. As we’ve just discussed, your recent performance has been… understandable given your circumstances. But if you have any intention of moving forward during your time here at Shujin, you can never be too careful about what associations you make and what influences you allow. There are a few students in particular you shouldn’t get involved with,” he concluded, with a blunt stare in Akira’s direction that was as subtle as a volleyball spike to the face.

Akira ignored the jibe, which allowed him to witness a momentary flash of indignation on Yoshizawa’s face. It was there and gone fast enough that he might have imagined it, and when she spoke again, her voice was unimpeachably respectful. “Of course, Kamoshida-sensei. I value your opinions as an instructor. Please rest assured that I take my performances very seriously.”

“And I’m sure results will follow if you hold yourself to that,” Kamoshida replied, with a smile that somehow managed to make his words, already the equivalent of a verbal pat on the head, even more dismissive.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Kawakami said, without particularly sounding so, “but I need to use the guidance office.”

“Oh, pardon me,” Kamoshida replied, donning his most supercilious smile. “We should be going too. Don’t want to get in the way of guiding this delinquent and all.” He walked past Akira without a backwards glance.

“Please excuse us,” Yoshizawa said, bowing – rather pointedly, Akira thought – to both himself and Kawakami.

He watched her until she disappeared around the corner, and turned back to find Kawakami surveying him, one eyebrow arched. “After you,” she said, pointing to the still-open door to the guidance office.

The teacher claimed one side of the table, and wasted no time when Akira sat down across from her. “I’m going to get straight to the point: did something happen between you and Mr. Kamoshida?”

“Why do you ask?” Akira replied. It wasn’t so much feigned ignorance as it was a play for more time to calm down. He had allowed himself to get too worked up, beyond even the obvious issues of what he knew about that man and seeing him with another vulnerable female student. Akira hadn’t even registered the fact that the guidance officer had come out of the room behind Kamoshida and Yoshizawa until he walked by.

“Well, there was that little exchange just now,” Kawakami said, stating the obvious. “But that’s not all. Kamoshida stopped me for a little lecture this morning, and your name came up. Something about the dangers of a lack of supervision.” She sighed. “I don’t mean to pry, but… Just make sure you don’t go causing trouble, okay?”

“Right,” said Akira, proud that at least he didn’t sound as resigned as he felt. Kamoshida plainly meant to make his remaining time at Shujin as miserable as he could. Akira and his friends had already planned on heading into the Palace later today; that was the only real solution available to them, and he meant not to squander it.

“Oh, there is one more thing,” Kawakami continued. “That girl outside the office – you didn’t make a pass at her, did you?”

There was no withholding his look of blank confusion at that particular segue. The honesty did him some good, at least, if the relieved look on Kawakami’s face was any indication. “Of course not,” he felt compelled to offer, all the same.

“Good. It’s just…” Kawakami trailed off with a frown, scratching her head in consternation. “Yoshizawa-san is going through a very difficult time right now.”

“I’ve barely spoken to her,” Akira said honestly, “but that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Look, I’m pretty sure you of all people would appreciate people not talking out of turn. It’s really not my story to tell.”

“I didn’t ask,” he pointed out. “It’s just… She seems like a person that’s been asked to do too much, and then asked to do one thing more.”

Kawakami blinked at him, momentarily speechless.

“What?”

“…Nothing. That was… very insightful of you.” She didn’t bother trying to disguise her shock. “Let’s get back to class.”

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

Akira didn’t know what kind of portent it was, but it rained the day after they stole Suguru Kamoshida’s Treasure. Their little team had wasted no time: it would be a week tomorrow that Shiho Suzui had made an attempt on her own life, galvanizing the self-proclaimed Phantom Thieves into accepting the risks in order to end that predator’s reign over Shujin once and for all. Now that he was out of school on a self-imposed suspension, all they could do was wait, and hope.

“We know the Palace is gone from that app thing,” Morgana offered, poking his head out for a breath of fresh air as they paused beneath the awning over Shujin’s main entrance. Akira stood off to the side from the doors, the better to keep their conversation at least somewhat discreet as a steady stream of students filed out of the building at the end of the school day. Between the steady rain and the persistent buzz of gossip about the calling card, they were unlikely to be overheard. “I may not know how it works, but I can’t get into the Palace, either, so we can be pretty sure it’s accurate, as far as that goes.”

“I wish we could be as certain about the change of heart,” Akira replied.

“It was my first attempt at something like that, too,” Morgana reminded him. “Don’t get me wrong, I know a few things, but it’s still more art than science.”

“It needed to be done. We all saw his Palace, and what it meant. You told us the risks, and we made our choice together, for better or worse. Hopefully better.”

“It’s a bit late for second thoughts, after all.”

Akira gave a sharp, morbid chuckle. “True. I’m afraid that’s just the kind of guy you’ve signed up to room with. The only thing I hate more than an unanswered question is an unfinished job.”

“We pushed hard to get through the Palace quickly,” Morgana admitted, shaking his head as a drop of water managed to splatter against his ear. Akira shifted a half step further under cover. “But I have to admit, you didn’t take any unnecessary risks when we were inside.“

He shrugged. “I like having a plan. Dealing with the unexpected… Improvisation…” _Damn brat. I’ll sue!_ “…hasn’t always ended well for me.”

“You’re rather deliberate, in your own way. I wouldn’t have pegged you for it, when we first met.”

“Flash and bluster. Truth is, I was scared out of my mind.”

“Joker? Scared? Never! You hid it well, for someone who hates dealing with the unexpected.”

Akira turned his head to give the cat an appropriately cocksure smirk. “I never said I was bad at it.”

“Very funny. Come on, the rain’s getting worse.” Morgana ducked inside the bag. Akira could feel his weight shifting as the cat rummaged around for something. “Mmrph! Dere it ish.” He emerged with an umbrella clutched in his mouth.

“Hopefully there aren’t too many holes in it; your claws are sharp, you know. Still, thanks.”

“I paid attention during the weather forecast this morning,” Morgana said loftily. “While _you_ were too busy eating.”

“What can I say, Sakura-san knows his curry,” Akira said, opening the umbrella and giving it a quick once-over; no claw holes, thankfully. “And I think he’s warming up to me; he only told me to scram once while I was eating today.”

“You do have a way with people. Soon, your overflowing charm will inspire him to call you something other than ‘kid.’”

“Think big, Morgana. Boss might know my name by August. He could even—” he trailed off, gaze drawn by a flash of color in the corner of his eye. A head of long, distinctive red hair had just stepped past him.

“Hm?” Morgana followed his line of sight. “Oh, it’s Yoshizawa-san. Wait, is she…?”

Akira frowned. The girl in question had walked right out the door and into the rain without so much as a moment's hesitation. And unlike the few others unfortunate enough to be exposed to a chilly shower in late April, who were dashing from cover to cover or running straight for the station, she trudged along at a slow, weary gait. The shoulders of her uniform blazer were already visibly darkened by precipitation.

Seeing no benefit in deliberation, Akira jogged to catch up before she could get any further ahead. Once he reached her, he shifted the umbrella to hold it up between them. “Mind if I walk with you?” he offered politely, hoping not to startle her.

His worry deepened when she didn’t even seem to notice his presence. Her eyes were listless as she stared at the ground a short distance in front of her. Her vibrant red hair hung lank and heavy over her shoulders. Wet bangs clung to her forehead, shedding large drops to collect on the lenses of her glasses. “Yoshizawa-san?”

Her name seemed to spark her back to some awareness. “Oh. Senpai. I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“No need to apologize. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, in a painfully automatic sort of way.

They continued walking, Akira trying his best to match Yoshizawa’s slow pace. He struggled for what to say beyond something as pedantic and self-evident as the weather. The silence grew awkward, but he was loath to pry, remembering Kawakami’s warning from a few days past. Abandoning her to the elements was out of the question.

“You know,” Akira said, hitting on the most innocuous topic of all, wondering how it had taken him so long to realize. “We’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Akira Kurusu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

For a long moment, she did nothing but continue to stare at the ground as she walked. Despite the circumstances, it was impossible to miss the fact that rain was no longer the only moisture on her cheeks. Akira felt his heart clench in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Here, take this.” He offered her the umbrella. “I can jog the rest of the way to the station, it’s not—”

“Sumire,” she said, no louder than a whisper.

Akira hardly dared to breathe. It was like a firefly had landed on his finger, and he didn't want to do anything to scare it away.

“I’m Sumire Yoshizawa. It’s… nice to meet you.” Even that standard greeting came out awkward – she was in no state to even feign pleasantries – but for some reason, Akira felt himself smiling even so.

“That’s a good name,” he said, meaning it. _Violet_. It suited her, somehow. “Are your parents fond of flowers?”

Her lower lip trembled, fresh tears falling. “Yes,” she managed, after another long pause. Her voice was thick and shaky. “They were.”

Akira could have kicked himself. “I’m so sorry, that was a thoughtless question. I didn’t know you’d lost them.”

Far from being comforting, his statement only seemed to confuse her. “I haven’t.”

That only confused Akira in turn. “But you said they _were_ fond of flowers…?”

Sumire stopped abruptly, staring at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. She covered her mouth with both hands, as if she’d just uttered a vile insult. The shock slowly gave way to more tears. She fell to a crouch, burying her face in her arms where they crossed above her knees. She did not make a sound, but her body shook with her sobs.

Akira shared a helpless look with Morgana, and tried to ignore the stares of other Shujin students as they passed. The whispers were not kind. _Isn’t that the delinquent? What did he say to that girl? Is he harassing her? I’d help her, but he’d probably kill me. Should someone call the police? Shit, he’s looking this way, keep walking!_

Utterly lost, Akira did the only thing he felt wouldn’t make things even worse. He stayed beside Sumire, giving her as much space as he could while still keeping her beneath the umbrella. He didn’t track the time, but the steady traffic of students slowed, and then stopped entirely. His hair and blazer were soaked; he had taken off his bag and placed it between himself and Sumire, if only to spare Morgana the same fate.

The cat, for his part, tried to stay inconspicuous, but at some point was forced to poke his head out of the damp satchel for fresh air. “Phew!” he gasped.

While to Sumire it would have sounded like an innocuous feline mewl, it nonetheless drew her attention. Her sobs seemed to have passed by that point; her head jerked up, leaving her glasses askew. “A cat?”

Akira tugged awkwardly at one sodden forelock. “This is Morgana.”

“You… bring a cat… to school?” Her voice was broken by hesitance more than fresh tears. She rubbed at her face with a sleeve and righted the black frames of her glasses.

“He’s very well-behaved.”

She reached out a hand, but stopped halfway, shooting him an abashed glance. “Sorry. Is it okay if I pet him?”

“Of course it is,” Morgana replied sympathetically. “Even if I’m not a cat,” he added as an afterthought.

“Softie,” Akira couldn’t help but smirk. “He says yes,” he translated for Sumire’s benefit.

As she reached out to gently ruffle the fur around Morgana’s ears, she smiled, if only a little. It was just the second time he’d seen it, and in spite of her inflamed eyes and puffy cheeks, his breath caught. If nothing else, it was a relief that he’d managed to say something that didn’t make her cry all over again.

“I’m so sorry about that, Senpai,” said Sumire. Since she didn’t look up as she spoke, she appeared to be addressing Morgana. It made it easier for her, but given Morgana’s nature, it made the conversation both a bit awkward and more than a bit amusing from Akira’s perspective. “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

“It’s okay. And you don’t have to tell me anything. We’ve only just been introduced, after all,” he said, offering her a subdued version of Joker’s trademark grin.

Her eyes never moved, but somehow he felt she still saw it. There wasn’t a smile, but something in her face softened, just the tiniest bit. A fraction of the tears and worries and shattered reserve became just a little less tightly wrapped about her. “My parents are still around,” she began. It felt almost like a non sequitur, until Akira remembered what she had said before finally breaking down. “But a month ago today, my sister… died. Her name was Kasumi.”

 _Blossoms_ , Akira thought, nodding. “ _Are your parents fond of flowers?_ ” he had asked.

“ _They were_.”

It made sense now, though her choice of words still nagged at him. Wasn’t she named for a flower, too?

“I’m sorry.”

Sumire shook her head. “You didn’t know. Most of the students don’t know. The teachers do, if only because we were both supposed to transfer in this year.”

“I’m a little surprised. The rumor mill here is… robust.”

“We’re… I’m... old news now. We came to this school on honors scholarships for gymnastics. I know it was really Kasumi that they wanted, but she insisted. For months, our going to Shujin was all she talked about. Now they’re stuck with just me, pretending it’s enough out of sympathy.” Her expression fell, the hand petting Morgana slowing to a halt. “It hasn’t been easy… playing along.”

He thought back to Kamoshida’s comments about her “performance” being excused by “circumstances” during their encounter outside the guidance office. It sounded as though that had been typical for her over the past month. Akira decided this girl had something of a talent for understatement.

“And now I can’t decide if it’s getting better or worse,” she added. “Between you, and now Kamoshida and the ‘Phantom Thieves,’ it’s like everyone’s forgotten about us. About her. A month ago, I hated it when they pitied me. Now I hate that they don’t. I feel like I don’t even know who I want to be anymore. And I hate that I feel that way!”

“’I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem adequate for that,” Akira offered, “but I really don’t know what else to say.”

Sumire shook her head. “No. I’m sorry for troubling you with all my problems. It’s hardly your fault, let alone your responsibility, that no one cares about the tragic honors gymnast twins anymore.”

“I do,” he said, before he could think better of it. Though even after, he found the statement still tasted true.

She looked up, startled, meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d begun speaking. “Why?”

“Because you do.” He shrugged, finding himself unable to hold her gaze for a change. “Sorry. I know that sounds like a cheesy drama line.”

“But you delivered it so well,” she said, her tone just the tiniest bit off from earnest.

He looked up. Unless he was imagining things, this girl had just teased him, barely a breath after breaking down in tears. By outward appearances her focus had returned to Morgana. Her melancholy expression was masked by benign amusement as the cat leaned into a round of vigorous scratching beneath his chin. She was proving to be a mysterious muddle of contradictions.

“Ooh, right there!” Morgana crowed. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get that spot, and your nails are _just_ the right length…”

“He’s very chatty,” Sumire observed. “How in the world do you hide him during class?”

“He can be quiet if he wants to be. That’s rare enough.”

“I can hear you. And I know where you sleep.”

“When, too,” Akira said. Sumire’s head tilted in confusion. He shook his head. “Thinking out loud, sorry. Wondering when the rain’s going to let up.”

She shot to her feet, Morgana forgotten. “Oh, Senpai, I’m so sorry! You must be soaked to the bone, and I’m just sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”

“Trust me, Morgana’s become quite a fan of yours, and that’s surprisingly valuable.”

“Hey!” the cat yelped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She glanced between them. “It’s strange, sometimes it sounds like he’s actually replying to you.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he said. He smiled in a way that might have been enigmatic, but to anyone not in on the joke, he figured he probably just ended up looking slightly crazy. “Would you like me to walk you the rest of the way to the station?”

Sumire looked sheepish. “Um… please don’t be mad?”

It was Akira’s turn to raise a quizzical brow. “Why would I be mad?”

She reached into her bag and proceeded to withdraw an umbrella of her own. “I… really wasn’t thinking straight when I left school. I’m terribly sorry to have troubled you.”

“Well, I promise not to be mad,” said Akira, cradling his chin with a thoughtful expression. “On one condition.”

“Name it,” she said.

“Allow me to walk you the rest of the way, even if we’re both under our own umbrellas.”

“I suppose that’s more than fair.” She almost smiled again, and Akira counted himself ahead in the bargain. They walked to the Aoyama station in companionable silence. She was more composed than she had been, but still plainly not at her best. Not wanting to stumble into further pitfalls, Akira kept what little chatter remained between them light and infrequent. Upon returning to Shibuya, they parted ways and headed for their separate transfers.

Stopping to check his phone, Akira watched her go until she vanished into the crowd.

“She’s a strong girl,” Morgana observed. “Back in school less than a month after her sister died? And we had no idea before today.”

“Mm,” Akira nodded. A pause. He glanced around, and sidled into a lower traffic area near the escalators to the Yamanote Line. “Mona, I’m curious about something.”

The cat blinked, attention caught by the use of his code name. “What’s up?”

“Palaces are formed by distorted desires, right?”

“Yep. That’s the most basic of basics.”

“Kamoshida believed his past exploits gave him the right to do as he pleased. He saw himself as the ultimate authority of his own personal kingdom, so a Palace formed, and the school became a castle.”

“Right. We both know all this.”

“Kamoshida was an evil bastard. But ‘distorted’ doesn’t in and of itself equate to ‘evil.’”

Outside of memes on the internet, it was a little surreal to see a cat frown, but Morgana pulled it off. “What’s on your mind, Joker?”

“Testing a theory,” Akira replied, tapping the icon on his phone to bring up the Metaverse Navigator. He contemplated the display for a quiet moment. “Sumire Yoshizawa.”

“ _Candidate found._ ”

He expelled a long, slow breath through his nose. “Well, then.”

“Actually, Akira…” Morgana said, sounding oddly reluctant.

“What is it?”

“I have a theory. With how we’ve seen that app work so far, I think it’s solid, but I haven’t had a chance to test it yet. I was planning to soon, honest.”

“I know we’ve been busy, Mona. We did steal Kamoshida’s heart just yesterday. What’re your thoughts?”

The cat stuck his tongue out at him. “Don’t start stealing my lines, amateur. Anyway, there is another possibility. As far as I know, everyone except Persona-users have Shadow counterparts in the Metaverse. They’re not always easy to find; the collective unconscious is a pretty big place. Distortions make them stand out a bit. But Palaces are only formed by people with _really_ distorted desires, and only when that distortion actually corresponds to a location in reality, like Kamoshida.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Akira said, nodding. “We needed the name, the location, and the nature of the distortion to enter Kamoshida’s Palace, according to the Nav’s search history. I suppose the obvious question is if other people have Shadows, but not a distorted desire or no location for it, then where are they?”

“I don’t know why, but the Shadows and distortions are all being drawn out of their rightful place in the Sea of Souls, and collecting in one location beneath cognitive Shibuya. In a sense, it’s become ‘everyone’s Palace,’” Morgana explained. “It’s called Mementos. Try searching for that, along with Yoshizawa’s name.”

Akira manually entered that in the search box.

“ _Conditions have not been met._ ”

He sighed. “Right. So, if her name is a hit, but she’s not in Mementos, then…”

“Yeah,” Morgana said gravely. “It means exactly what you think it does. Sumire Yoshizawa has a Palace.”


	2. Noblesse Oblige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've bumped the rating to Mature due to - in no particular order - profanity, an abundance of caution, and Suguru Kamoshida. I thought transcribing his game lines was bad (as much as I adore D.C. Douglas' vocal performance), but getting into that character's head space to write original dialogue makes me want a bloody shower.

There were several advantages to using the Shujin Academy rooftop as a hideout. First, it was a low-traffic area, even if the “Off Limits” sign on the door was of debatable effectiveness. Akira had overheard a teacher talking to a third-year girl about taking care of the planters tucked away by the air conditioning units, but he’d yet to see her or anyone else up here. Second, it was classic, as any Japanese teenager with appreciation for pop culture could attest. School rooftops were instrumental to any great adventures, or in this case, clandestine meetings. And finally, it was secure, impossible for anyone to sneak into or surveil. The rusty squeal of the door that set his teeth on edge every time he heard it made sure of that.

Morgana didn’t appear to enjoy the noise any more than Akira did. The hair on his back stood on end when the door opened to reveal Ann and Ryuji. Akira had asked them for an after school meetup with a message in their group chat.

“Yo,” Ryuji called, ambling over to the collection of tables and fold-out chairs where Akira had been waiting. “You hear anything about Kamoshida?”

“It’s been almost a week since we stole his Treasure,” said Ann, dropping her bag to the ground as she claimed a sunny spot to sit. The HVAC units blocked the worst of the wind, but the late April air still had some bite. “But if you had news, I’m pretty sure you’d have mentioned that in your text.”

“Sorry, nothing on that front,” Akira replied, shaking his head. “He’s still on voluntary suspension. I asked Kawakami, but all I got is that no one’s seen him since then.”

“No news ain’t bad news, I guess,” said Ryuji, kicking a pebble towards the ledge. “What’s up, then?”

“Nothing urgent,” Akira assured them. “I’d like to try and stay vague in the chats if possible. Mona’s already in the loop, so I wanted to give you two a heads-up about this in person.”

“We discovered something about one of your classmates a few days ago,” Morgana began.

Akira looked to Ann and Ryuji in turn. “Do either of you know anything about Sumire Yoshizawa?”

Ryuji scratched at the back of his head. “Seen her once or twice. That skinny first year with red hair, yeah? Ain’t she a dancer or something?”

“Rhythmic gymnastics,” Ann corrected. “So you’re kind of right, I guess? I’ve never met her, but Shiho was asked to show Yoshizawa-san around when she transferred in last month, and told me a little. Apparently she’s good. Like nationals-level good, scholarship and everything.”

Neither of them had further insight. Akira nodded. “Apparently, she has a Palace.”

“For real?!”

“Wait, what? How do you know?”

“A lucky guess, followed by a little trial and error with the Nav,” Akira explained. Morgana had asked him to refrain from mentioning Mementos for the moment, at least until he could figure out some more details and provide everyone with a proper introduction.

“Damn, that’s messed up. What kinda place is it? She’s a gymnast, so is it like some giant stadium?”

Morgana shook his head. “We haven’t seen it.”

“We don’t even know all of her keywords yet, actually,” Akira admitted.

“Oh, you mean for the app, like Kamoshida, Shujin, castle?” Ann asked. “But you don’t need the app to enter a Palace, do you, Morgana?”

“Indeed, Lady Ann. Very observant of you.” The cat preened. “But I haven’t found it, either. My best guess is it formed recently, and the distortion is still relatively small.”

“So, uh, what now? We start guessin’?”

“No,” said Akira. “I didn’t want to keep you two in the dark about this, but I don’t think we should do anything, at least not yet.”

Ann’s brow furrowed. “Why’s that?”

“Two reasons,” Akira explained. He held up one finger. “First, it’s not a priority. We had direct evidence and testimony of Kamoshida’s crimes, and he was an imminent danger not just to us, but to every student in this school. With Yoshizawa-san, all we know is that she has a Palace.”

“But that still ain’t normal,” Ryuji countered. “Is it? I mean, how common are Palaces, Mona?”

“They’re rare, for sure. But they have been getting more common. I think. I’m not sure why, either.”

“I see what you’re saying, Akira,” Ann said. “I haven’t heard anything bad about Yoshizawa-san. There’s some grumbling about her preferential treatment as an honor student, but even Shujin’s rumor mill hasn’t come up with anything worse than that.”

“Exactly,” Akira agreed. “I’ve talked to Mona about this, but ‘distorted’ doesn’t mean ‘evil.’ I have some theories, but I don’t believe Yoshizawa-san is a danger to anyone.”

Ann accepted that with a nod. “You said you had two reasons. What’s the second?”

“It comes back to Kamoshida again. Like you said, it’s been nearly a week since we stole his Treasure, but we still don’t know the effects. He placed himself under suspension, and that might be a good sign, but that’s all. Our expulsions? The volleyball team’s abuse? Shiho?” He glanced apologetically at Ann. “Nothing. Beyond that, Mona told us before we started that even if we did everything right, a mental shutdown was still possible. I don’t want to act on this, and then find out that Kamoshida’s been in a coma for the past week.”

“Yeah, I get you, man,” Ryuji said, uncharacteristically subdued. “We had no choice in stoppin’ that bastard, but this? I hear ya. Glad you talked it out with us an’ all, but you’re right. Leave it be, for now.”

“I agree,” said Ann. “You said you had theories, but more info couldn’t hurt. Want me to ask around a bit?”

“Please do.”

“No promises, though.” Ann gave him a wan smile. “Most of my gossiping was done with Shiho, after all.”

“Well, I’m often the only thing anyone who sees me can manage to talk about. And I still send most people running if I get within arm’s reach.”

“Give ‘em time, man,” Ryuji said, grinning. “Once they get to know ya, they’ll start runnin’ soon as they see ya!”

“Very funny,” Akira said, smiling in spite of himself.

Ryuji’s grin widened to match as he leaned over to nudge Akira’s shoulder. “What’re friends for?”

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

Relief was a hell of a drug.

The tension and anxiety Akira had been carrying around had built up so steadily and for so long, when Suguru Kamoshida dropped to his knees and confessed his crimes in front of the entire school, the greatest shock to Akira was how easy it was to breathe again. If Dr. Takemi could bottle and sell what he had felt in that moment, she’d make a fortune.

His first month in Tokyo had been more eventful than he would have liked, but at least things were starting to turn for the better, even beyond the complete success of changing Kamoshida’s heart. Riding high on that accomplishment, he and his friends had resolved to continue on as the Phantom Thieves. Even Mishima’s “Phan-Site” made it plain that there were still plenty of people who needed their help.

The most tangible sign of progress was sitting right in Akira’s hand. The key that Sakura-san had tossed him when he’d returned to Leblanc that evening was no longer a cool weight on the meat of his palm. He’d been sitting on his bed staring at it long enough for the bit of metal to warm from the heat of his skin, yet it persisted there, continually failing to vanish into thin air. Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all, and his gruff caretaker really was, much like the key, starting to warm up to him over time.

“You’re kind of creeping me out,” Morgana complained. He was perched on the windowsill behind Akira, laving himself with a paw in a suspiciously similar fashion to a cat he claimed he wasn’t. “You’ve been staring at that key for five minutes with a goofy little smile on your face. It’s good that the chief is starting to trust you, but it’s starting to get weird.”

Akira turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “Before today, which one of us could just jump out the window if he wanted to get some fresh air at night?”

“Yeah, yeah. Though now that you mention it, what are you planning to do with your new freedom?”

“There was one thing I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

“You can finally leave Yongen in the evenings, and the first place you want to go is _here_?” Perched on Akira’s shoulder, Morgana was making no effort to hide his incredulity. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Better than. I’ve been waiting weeks to try this.”

“Joker, there are times you worry me, you know that?”

They stood at the entrance to Shujin Academy. This late in the evening, even the most dedicated clubs and teams had been dismissed and gone home. The gates were closed and locked, and the windows they could see from the street were all dark. They hadn’t encountered a single soul since turning off the main street outside the station in Aoyama.

“Have a little faith, Mona.” Akira spoke, but it was Joker who smiled and took out his phone with a flourish. “Sumire Yoshizawa. Shujin Academy.”

“ _Result found._ ”

“What the—! When did you figure out one of Yoshizawa-san’s keywords?”

“Just now.” He grinned at Morgana over his shoulder. “I’m glad that worked. I would have looked pretty dumb otherwise.”

The cat stared at him in silence. “Have I mentioned that you worry me? I feel like I’ve mentioned that.”

He laughed. “In my defense, I’ve been thinking this over for a while. Given what we know about Yoshizawa-san, especially what you said about the Palace forming recently, it seemed like a logical conclusion. And if worse came to worst, we’re not even out any rail fare. All we’ve wasted is a little time.”

“Fair enough. But if you’re holding out on me with the last keyword for an even more dramatic reveal, I _will_ claw you in your sleep. On your face.”

“No more action DVDs before bedtime, they’re making you bloodthirsty,” Akira joked. “But that’s it for games. Just honest guesswork, now. That’s another reason I wanted to come here in person: if my hunch paid off, I was hoping you might be able to enter the Palace. Maybe find some hints for the rest of us.”

Morgana looked around. “There’s _something_ nearby. I can feel it, especially now that I know to look, but I can’t quite get there. It’s strange. This close to a Treasure, normally I wouldn’t have any problem. I could almost feel Kamoshida’s the whole time we were at school, even in the real world.”

“No more shortcuts, I guess. I do have a few ideas…”

Fifteen minutes later, they remained almost exactly where they had started. They had moved to a bench on the opposite side of the alley, and had eliminated several dozen possible candidates for the nature of Yoshizawa’s distortion. By this point, reasonable guesses had transitioned into something closer to an absurd game of charades.

“ _Conditions have not been met._ ”

“This app seriously needs a better search feature,” Akira grumbled.

“ _Conditions have not been met._ ”

He glared at his phone. This time, it wisely remained silent.

“Locker room?” Morgana tried, his voice weary.

“ _Conditions have not been met._ ”

Akira locked his phone. “Let’s take a break. We’ve tried everything obviously related to school, gymnastics, even memorials.” And he was going to forget about that last stretch of guesses as soon as possible. It may have been shrewd to consider how Yoshizawa’s loss of her sister might have contributed to the formation of her Palace, but it had also been distressing to contemplate so thoroughly. _There’s_ _nothing quite like thinking of synonyms for ‘funeral’ to bring down your mood_.

“We should try again later. Maybe take some time tomorrow after school. Then we’d have Ann and Ryuji there for a fresh perspective, too.”

“Remember what I told you about me and unanswered questions?” Akira asked with a weak smile. “This will probably keep me up all night if we don’t figure it out now that we’ve started. Besides, didn’t you want to introduce us all to Mementos tomorrow? You said the other day you’d found what you needed.”

“That’s right. But Mementos isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Akira said. Resting his chin on his hand, his attention drifted down the now-familiar street leading to the station. Night was falling; they’d need to head that way soon, with or without the answer they sought. “You’re the expert, after all.”

“Sorry for keeping you in the dark about this,” Morgana said. “It’s important to me that we do this right. You’ve been a good sport about it. Thanks for playing along.”

Mind numb from twenty minutes of frustrating wordplay, Akira found himself staring at the spot where he’d held an umbrella over a crying girl, who had occupied a space in the back of his head ever since, like another Persona whispering beneath his own thoughts. Then Morgana’s statement sank in, and he felt like he’d just _almost_ remembered something important. “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“I said exploring Mementos is important to me. Come on, you must be getting tired. Let’s head back.”

“No. I mean yes, I am, and yes, I heard that bit about Mementos. But after that.”

“Huh? Uhh, I said ‘thanks for playing along’?”

“ _For months, our going to Shujin was all she talked about. Now they’re stuck with just me, pretending it’s enough out of sympathy. It hasn’t been easy… playing along._ ”

Akira stood up, startling Morgana. “Whoa! What is it?”

He reopened his phone. The Metaverse Navigator was still active, and still waiting for the elusive final keyword. “Movie.”

“ _Conditions have not been met._ ”

“Play.”

“ _Conditions have—_ ”

He didn’t bother giving the synthesized feminine voice a chance to finish. “Drama.”

“ _Conditions_ —”

“Akira? What—”

He held up a hand. Their earlier guesses had been going about this all wrong. He was on the right track now, but too anxious to take the time to explain. “Performance.”

“ _Conditions have not—_ ”

“Routine. No, crap, we tried that already. Act!”

“ _Conditions have not been met._ ”

He bit back a curse. He was so close. He could feel it. He _knew_ it, somehow, the same way he knew on that day in April that the only way to fight, to _survive_ , was to listen to the voice in his head… and tear off his mask.

 _Bingo_. Akira grinned. “Masquerade.”

“ _Input accepted_. _Searching for route to destination._ ”

“You got it!” Morgana exclaimed.

Akira let out a long, slow breath, victorious grin falling away as he tried to get his excitement back under control. “Sorry about cutting you off like that, Mona. I didn’t want to lose my train of thought.” It was not the full truth, perhaps, but it was the closest thing that would make any sense.

“It’s fine. You’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

Akira shrugged, but couldn’t muster a denial. Kamoshida’s confession was still front page news, the Phantom Thieves were little more than a day old as an official group, and an hour ago he hadn’t been able venture further from Leblanc in the evenings than the batting cages in Yongen-Jaya. If he was being honest with himself, Akira wasn’t entirely sure why this mattered so much. “So, you up for taking a look around?”

Morgana’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t want to call the others, first?”

Akira shook his head. “Ann told me she was going to visit Shiho when we left the diner, and I got a text from Ryuji that he was bringing home dinner for his mom. But we’re here, and I don’t see any reason not to at least see what it looks like. Besides, weren’t you exploring Palaces on your own before we met?”

His roommate remained skeptical. “Yeah, and look where that got me.”

“I’m not suggesting an infiltration, this is strictly recon,” Akira said, and meant it. He had no intention of fighting anything on this trip. He was eager, but not reckless. “Plus, we’ve still got plenty of those escape tools you helped me make before we took down Kamoshida.” It never hurt to play to Morgana’s vanity, after all.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too dangerous to see the nature of the distortion and get an idea of the Palace’s basic layout.” Morgana fixed him with a stare. “But if I sense the security level start to rise, or we see a Shadow we can’t get past without fighting, we leave immediately. Deal?”

“Deal.” Casting a look around to ensure they were still alone, Akira brought up the Nav. With the press of a button, the world around them began to shift.

The first thing he noticed was that the alley in front of the school had changed. They were now standing on a narrow gravel road, lined on both sides not with skyscrapers and concrete parking spots, but tall evergreen trees. In the distance, he could still make out traffic on the main street leading to Aoyama-Itchome station, but he wasn’t seeing the usual cars, vans, taxis, and buses. Instead, there was a steady stream of horse-drawn carriages.

The main gate to Shujin was no longer directly in front of them, either. Another gravel road led through a set of manicured hedges, uniformly trimmed just a bit taller than Akira himself. The path before them split to encircle a low, wide marble pool with a fountain statue at its center. A short ways further, there was a massive, solid metal gate centered in a barred fence. The fence was backed by another set of hedges that was far too tall and thick to see beyond.

“Interesting.” Morgana, now in his Metaverse form and attire, took in the landscape. His gaze stopped when it reached Akira, both of his giant blue eyes blinking. “Well, that’s odd.”

It only took a glance for him to realize what Mona meant. Akira’s hands were bare, and he remained clad in his Shujin uniform. He could still feel Arsène and his other Personae just beneath the surface of his awareness, so his will of rebellion remained intact. He raised a quizzical brow at his teammate. “Any ideas?”

“It’s possible the Palace ruler doesn’t see you as a threat. We’d know for sure if the others were here, but that’s my guess. The security level here is almost nothing, and I’m not detecting many Shadows nearby either.”

“I won’t complain about that. Let’s head for that gate.”

Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked, accompanied by the sound of crickets and birdsong from the bushes to either side, as well as the steadily rising gurgle of water as they neared the fountain. All in all, it felt subdued and realistic compared to the eerie glow of Kamoshida’s Palace. As they reached the fountain and got a closer look at the statue there, it too lacked the tacky grandeur of Kamoshida’s self-aggrandizing monuments, or the puerile simplicity of the female torsos that had made all the Thieves uncomfortable, disgusted, or both. By comparison, the marble figure they saw here was lifelike, even beautiful. It was a dancing gymnast, captured with one leg planted and the other pointed straight up, her body parallel to the ground and arms outstretched to either side. One stone hand held an upright baton, from which flowed a steady stream of water into the pool below.

The statue was oriented towards the gate, so they didn’t see the figure’s face until they reached the far side from where they’d come. Mona’s head tilted, a short-armed paw held at his chin. “Is that Yoshizawa-san?”

Akira studied the face for a moment. “No,” he concluded. It was more than just the hair being done up or the missing glasses (which, of course, no gymnast could wear while performing), but something subtler. Even in stone, however lifelike, he knew this wasn’t Sumire Yoshizawa. “Her sister, maybe.” There wasn’t a plaque or other marker to confirm, but it seemed like a reasonable guess.

“Weren’t they twins?”

“Not all twins are identical,” Akira pointed out. Mona accepted that without further explanation, and they moved on.

Before they reached the gate, the path began to widen, the hedgerows opening into a large, open roundabout. As soon as they set foot there, they saw their first Shadows. Without warning, two massive forms surged through the bars to either side of the gate, materializing through the darkness of the greenery beyond. Akira and Mona both froze, but the Shadows did not approach. Their inky forms slowly took on solid form as a pair of eighteenth-century soldiers wearing knee-high black boots, white pants, and white vests with long-tailed, solid red coats.

Knowing from experience that the weakness of a Shadow was to remove its mask, Akira took note of the differences from the helms and faceplates worn by Kamoshida’s servants. These wore tall black shakos, flat-topped cylinders with visors that extended down to double as faceguards, held in place with oversized white chinstraps that obscured the lower halves of the Shadows’ visages.

Instead of swords and shields, these Shadows were armed with rifles as tall as their wielders, tipped with bayonets that were not the least bit ornamental, if the gleam of their edges was any indication.

“Halt!” the Shadows called, lowering their weapons to cross them in front of the gate.

Even beyond their size and armaments, Akira knew these Shadows were not to be trifled with. They were far, far stronger than anything they had encountered inside Kamoshida’s Palace, glowing a baleful, forbidding red when he glimpsed them through the lens of his Third Eye. Akira and Mona both took a step back, prepared to flee.

“These gates are to remain closed until the Her Grace’s ball begins.”

When the guards made no further move, Akira relaxed the barest fraction. It seemed they were willing to talk, but he wouldn’t want to take these Shadows on directly even if their full team had been present. “And when might that be?” he asked.

“Duchess Yoshizawa will announce that once the preparations have been completed. For now, invited guests like you gentlemen are being asked to wait outside.”

Akira blinked. “Guests?”

“Gentlemen?” Mona echoed.

“Sir Akira and Sir Morgana. You are welcome to join the others waiting in the outer courtyard. Refreshments are being provided."

Akira and Mona shared an incredulous look. “Others?”

“ _Refreshments?_ ”

“Please follow the path to your left,” the Shadow instructed. “All invitees have freedom of the grounds, so long as they remain outside the gates until the ball begins.”

The two thieves traded another glance. Simultaneously, they shrugged, and began to walk.

“Mona, I realize I’ve only seen one Palace before. So is this as weird as I think it is?”

“If anything, it’s _weirder_ ,” Mona replied. “Those Shadows could have turned us into paste without even trying, but I didn’t sense any aggression. They really don’t seem to care that we’re here as long as we don’t try and get past the gate they’re guarding.”

The path was curved gently to their right, but the wall continued to be insurmountable from what they could tell. The bars were too narrowly spaced for even Mona to slip between, and were too tall and smooth to scale with any ease, even with Metaverse-enhanced dexterity. The brush beyond remained just as impenetrable to sight, a solid barrier even to the Third Eye. To their left, the line of hedges was broken at regular intervals with other paths leading into what looked like a series of interconnected gardens that surrounded the grounds.

“Are you sensing anything else?” Akira wondered. “Other Shadows, or the Treasure?”

“Other than those two back at the gate, I’m not sensing any Shadows outside.” Mona frowned, glancing back and forth with eyes narrowed behind the slits of his mask. “As for the Treasure, it’s still really faint, almost _worse_ than it was in reality.”

“Any better idea now if that’s because the Palace is still new, like you thought?”

“Maybe?” Mona replied, his tone both doubtful and frustrated. “If anything, the Treasure feels… dispersed. Like it isn’t in any one place.”

Akira considered that. He knew Mona could be prickly about his senses in the Metaverse, stemming from his missing memories. “Could it have anything to do with how both this Palace and Kamoshida’s distorted the same location? A remnant of the past Palace interfering, somehow?”

“No. I can be sure of that much, now that we’re inside,” said Mona, sounding much more confident on that point. “To me, it’s like… two streets in cities on opposite sides of the country that happen to have the same name. One has no effect on the other.”

Akira nodded, deferring to his judgement. “I guess we keep looking for this outer courtyard, then.”

“You don’t have much further to go,” a new, vaguely familiar voice said.

Akira turned, startled. Out of the nearest pathway on their left, a girl in a wheelchair rolled slowly towards them. She wore a beige sweater and a scarf, its black-and-white chevron pattern wrapped around her neck. Her legs were covered by a thick blanket in the familiar pattern of Shujin Academy’s legwear. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail. “Suzui-san?”

“Oh, it’s nice to be recognized,” Shiho Suzui replied, her smile warm and friendly.

“It’s a cognition,” Morgana said, observing the girl with interest. “Like the volleyball players in the castle.”

“Not exactly,” Akira muttered, still a little stunned.

“Well, no. Obviously Yoshizawa-san has a much different perception of people than that monster did. Lady Ann mentioned that Suzui was asked to show Yoshizawa-san around the school when she transferred in. I guess she left a good impression.”

Akira had no trouble imagining that. He’d shared nothing more than a thirty-second conversation with the girl, but had received enough compassion in that span of time to make it vividly memorable. Subsequent events and Ann’s persistent, heartfelt worrying over her best friend had only solidified that first impression.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the cognitive Suzui went on, sounding so apologetic it made even Mona flinch with guilt.

“I’m Mona. This is Joker. We’re guests that just arrived, as you can probably tell.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she replied. The Shadows at the gate had known their real names, which still bothered Akira, but the cognition appeared unfazed by the introductions. “Sorry for sneaking up on you; I couldn’t help but overhear you were looking for the outer courtyard. It’s this way.” She pushed herself along the path Akira and Mona had been following, struggling somewhat across the rough gravel surface. Akira slipped behind her to push, and even Mona made no comment on the act of chivalry towards a figment of someone else’s imagination.

True to her words, they spied the courtyard almost immediately. The gravel path turned to flagstone, and the hedge wall curved outwards to enclose a large grassy lawn. There were benches both along the walkway and the hedges, and the lawn was filled with tables, chairs, and people sitting in them. Like Shiho, these cognitions wore variations on the Shujin uniform. Boys generally wore tall boots around the familiar tartan pants, and their black blazers were longer, fashioned more like formal waistcoats. The girls wore blouses or light sweaters like Shiho, paired with long skirts, or dark dresses in a few different cuts and styles, though always in some way involving the unflattering plaid pattern from reality.

“Shiho, there you are! Making new friends, huh?”

“Lady Ann?!” Morgana gasped.

“That’s me!” not-Ann replied. “Shiho told you about me, huh?”

Akira barely managed to suppress a snort at the thought of the real Ann so blithely accepting Mona’s little nickname. She’d prefer this to Kamoshida’s cognition of her, at least. Probably. The cognitive Ann before them certainly stood out in her white blouse patterned with clovers and a blood-red hoop skirt.

“No, apparently I didn’t need to,” Shiho replied, smiling up at her friend. “I can’t imagine why.”

Ann replaced Akira behind Shiho’s wheelchair and began to push her down the path, the girls bantering away and Akira and Mona utterly forgotten.

“Shiho must have mentioned being friends with Lady Ann.”

“Obviously,” Akira deadpanned. He looked around. “I’m not quite sure what to make of Yoshizawa-san’s fashion sense, but costumes aside, she seems to have a fairly normal perception of people. We should walk around; hear what people are talking about. It might give us some clues.”

They did just that, and it did not take long for Akira to be struck by a sense of eerie familiarity. It was much like walking through the halls of Shujin, hearing snippets of random gossip, self-absorbed complaining, and even a few of the most prominent rumors about Akira himself, though thankfully no one seemed to recognize him.

The one atypical thread they consistently overheard regarded “Duchess Yoshizawa.” There was a great deal of awestruck whispering and excited speculation about “Her Grace” and the “ball” they were all here as “guests” for.

“It seems pretty obvious they’re referring to the Palace’s ruler,” Mona concluded, as they emerged from the crowd beside a set of long tables piled high with finger food, snacks, and drinks. “It’s just like all the Shadows and cognitions in the last Palace were enthralled by King Kamoshida.”

“This ‘ball’ worries me,” Akira said. He turned and saw a cognitive version of Principal Kobayakawa, wearing an antiquated version of his suit that was somehow even more ill-fitting, vacantly piling a plate with morsels from the table. Very apt. “I wonder what it represents in reality.”

“It’s hard to say without more clues. The cognitions themselves don’t know, probably because Yoshizawa-san in reality regards it as a secret.”

“But it has to be something people _will_ know eventually, hence the invitations and excitement. So it’s something she’s planning to reveal.” Akira tried not to speculate about what a girl with a Palace might think the average Shujin student would find exciting. The answer to that was in all likelihood why the Palace existed in the first place, and all they had at the moment was conjecture.

“Agreed. The problem is, we probably won’t learn a lot more without infiltration,” Mona said, crossing his arms and looking up at Akira.

A sibilant voice emerged from the bushes behind them. “So you want to know the Duchess’ secrets?”

Akira’s blood went cold. Even speaking in a barely-audible hiss, there was no mistaking the owner of that voice. “As if we’d trust anything _you_ have to say,” he growled, forcing his fists to unclench.

Stooped and pale, dressed in filthy rags and his hair a disheveled mess, Suguru Kamoshida emerged from the bushes with a rustle of leaves. Most of the other cognitions here looked normal, if oddly dressed, but this version looked a great deal like Kamoshida as he had revealed himself to be. He even stared at Akira with an eerily familiar loathing, bloodshot eyes wordlessly screaming the lies from that day outside the guidance office. _There are a few students in particular you shouldn’t get involved with_ , they said, filling Akira’s ears like a silent poison. “And why is that?” the cognitive Kamoshida sneered, nary a blink breaking his stare at Akira. “Didn’t you hear? I’ve been _reborn_.” His smile revealed yellowed, crooked teeth.

“Yeah. We heard.”

“Careful, Joker,” Mona warned, eyeing the cognition warily. “Remember, this isn’t the real Kamoshida, or his Shadow. This is only Yoshizawa-san’s _perception_ of Kamoshida after his confession.”

“You think I care what that useless little bitch thinks about me? It was her fucking sister we wanted,” the cognition snarled. His smile turned ghastly in a way no dentist could ever hope to fix. “Or should I say it was her sister I was wanting to fuck?” His tongue rolled over his lower lip. “Mmm. _Gymnast_.”

Akira didn’t think there were any depths the man before him had left to plumb. Here, inside the Metaverse, there was little to filter out the cold, furious _disdain_ that welled up from the gentleman thief in his heart. Threat or no, his rebellion was there, the will waiting only for his call. It would have been so easy to watch Kamoshida waste away into a pile of cursed, rotting meat.

The only thing that stopped him was the fact that it wouldn’t hurt the man _nearly enough_.

“What? Don’t want to violate your probation? You coward.”

“You want to die, you’ll have to do it yourself,” Akira growled. “I don’t owe you any favors.”

Kamoshida’s sickening grin soured into rage. “Tch. You think I haven’t tried? I fucking told you, you pest. What kind of moron doesn’t believe a man who can’t lie?”

Akira’s eyes narrowed, cold calculation sublimating his anger into focus and purpose. “That’s it, isn’t it? You confessed. You swore you’d atone. You’re bound by the things the real you said.”

“So the delinquent does have a brain,” Kamoshida mocked. “The thing is, if you’re not gonna put me out of my misery, I don’t exactly have a reason to keep talking. Sucks to be you.”

“That depends on what you know,” Akira said, his stare flat and pitiless. Disgusting as it was to contemplate, the question was simple. Did Yoshizawa think Kamoshida knew something? If so, this could be useful, even if it was also nauseating.

Kamoshida’s eyes narrowed. “You give me your word, and I give you the truth. That’s the deal.”

There was nothing friendly or playful about Akira’s grin. “You’d trust the word of a delinquent?”

“The little bitch did,” snarled Kamoshida. “Ignored every goddamn word I said. Way I see it, that makes you the honorable type.”

Akira considered that, the silence around them stretching as though the world itself was holding its breath. “Deal,” he said at last.

For an instant, the cognition actually looked relieved. The expression was gone as quick as it had come, replaced with the same festering ire from before. “Here’s the whole truth, then, you little brat. I don’t know shit, but if you look in the servant’s quarters, then you still might learn something.”

Silence stretched between them again, Akira’s gaze unblinking. At last he nodded, and turned.

Kamoshida scowled, erupting into pure, incandescent fury. “You gave me your goddamn _wor—_ ”

A burst of blue flame, a flash of steel, and the cognition went still and silent. Kamoshida tilted forward, as if in slow motion, and vanished in a burst of oily black.

Joker sheathed his dagger, glancing at Mona through the slits of his domino mask. “We need to find the servant’s quarters. Let’s go.”

His teammate eyed him warily. “You’re okay with this?”

“Panther drop-kicked a greatsword so she could slice herself in half, and said afterwards it was _cathartic_. You think I’m going to lose sleep over killing a cognition of that sicko?” he asked, incredulous.

Mona shook his head. “I meant do you actually believe him?”

“Enough to think it’s worth a look, I guess,” Joker said with a shrug. “Come on, we need to get a location at least. If these quarters are outside the gates we can keep going, otherwise it’ll need to wait until we can bring the whole team.”

“I’m not sure even that would be enough for those guards we saw.”

“Honestly? Neither am I,” Joker admitted, scanning the crowd for the most likely source of information. He caught sight of the head of blonde hair he was looking for and began making his way through the crowd of mingling cognitions, ignoring the whispers and murmurs that followed. His new attire was drawing attention, it seemed.

“We may have other options,” Mona said, jogging to keep pace with Joker’s steady gait. “We can try to talk to Yoshizawa-san. If she opens up to us, it could change her cognition. Best case? She lets you in on the secret, and that gate opens for you.”

“Maybe. Except I haven’t even seen her since that day last month. According to Panther, the rumor is she has permission from the school to leave early so she can make it to her practices off-campus, which are basically every day.” The possibility that she was avoiding him had also not been absent from his thoughts. He would have been tempted to do the same, were he in her place.

“Right. There’s also a chance that the cognitive block will change naturally. Both the cognitions and Shadows implied that the gates will open when this ‘ball’ happens, and that they’ll know when that time comes. It won’t be easy to keep checking on, but it’s an option.”

“I suppose that either way we still have time.” At last they made their way through the crowd to reach the cognitive Ann, and the wheelchair-bound cognition of Shiho she was still pushing around. Joker stepped onto the path ahead of them, waving a greeting.

“Sorry to interrupt, Suzui-san. Mind if we ask you a question?”

Shiho smiled. “Oh! Sir Akira, is that you?”

“I’d be a terrible masked thief if I admitted my identity, you know.”

“True, true. Already in costume, and in character as well! You must really be eager for the ball.”

Joker blinked, briefly stunned he hadn’t made the connection right away, given the keyword. Of course it was a _masquerade_ ball. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Shiho’s smile grew positively sly. The expression was simultaneously fitting and terrifying; he wondered if he would ever get the chance to know the real Shiho well enough to find out whether she was like this, or if she just… had been. He shook off the thought as she asked, “You’ve got the costume, but do you have a date yet?” She actually wagged her eyebrows at him.

Joker couldn’t help but laugh. “Not yet.”

“You’d better not wait, or all the good ones will be taken.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.” Joker grinned. To do or say otherwise would be out of character, after all. “Just need to meet the right girl.”

“Meaning you haven’t yet, huh? Let a girl down gently next time.”

“On the contrary, I just assumed you were out of my league. If either of you isn’t already taken, then every guy here is an idiot.”

He would bet cash money the real Ann had never blushed and shuffled the way her cognition was right now, but Shiho just smiled, hiding a laugh behind her wrist. “Flatterer. You know we do, you can’t get in, otherwise.”

“Oh?” Another part of the cognitive defenses, or just more teasing? A question for later. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Keep an eye out for hearts to steal, Sir Thief. But, oh, I’m the one being rude, aren’t I? You said you had a question?”

“We do,” Mona replied. “Do you know where we can find the servant’s quarters?”

Shiho’s head tilted, her brows creased in confusion. “Why on earth would you _want_ to?”

 _That was strangely vehement._ Worried about setting off the security level if he pushed the wrong angle, Joker thought quickly. “The grounds are beautiful and the refreshments delicious. It seems only fair to thank the people doing the hard work.”

The cognition seemed to digest that. “I guess…” she said, still sounding doubtful. “I really don’t think you’ll find anything there worth your time.”

 _One of your counterparts thought otherwise_ , he didn’t say. The possibility remained of some lie or subterfuge on cognitive Kamoshida’s part. The sudden evasiveness of what had been a friendly and helpful cognition like Shiho could mean she was trying to steer him clear of danger… or that there really was something in the servant’s quarters the Palace ruler didn’t want them to see. He decided it was worth a risk. “I wouldn’t want to cause offense to Duchess Yoshizawa, of course, but a compliment to her staff would also be a compliment to Her Grace, wouldn’t it?”

“Ooh, good one. That’s smooth, Joker,” Mona said under his breath.

“Well…” Shiho paused, thoughtful. “I suppose that’s true.” She turned her wheelchair, pointing. “Keep following the path that way. The servant’s quarters are at the back of the estate.”

“Thanks,” said Joker, walking away. He kept his pace studiously slow as they continued around the edge of the boundary to the Palace proper, until they were out of sight of the cognitive guests in the courtyard. Then, with a wave over his shoulder at Mona, he broke into a run. His teammate scurried to keep pace.

As directed, they found the servant’s quarters opposite the main gate. What Joker saw was both exciting and worrying. Exciting, because the building in question abutted the wall protecting the Palace, and he sensed the potential for an infiltration route. Worrying, because contrary to the rest of the Palace, which was formed and maintained like a wealthy noble estate, this shabby little stone structure was dilapidated and crumbling, little more than a shed. The door was untreated wood held in place with rusty, uneven hinges, and visibly rotting. After sharing a glance with Mona, he knocked.

There was no answer, except for the door creaking inwards at even that faint contact. Joker pushed it open the rest of the way, finding nothing inside but a set of stairs leading down, under the walls of the Palace. The steps were rough stone, the passage unlit. The dank smell of mildew wafted over them.

“Mona?”

“I don’t sense any Shadows. Not even a twitch from the security level as far as I can tell, either.”

There was a single unlit torch hanging in a lopsided bracket by the door. Joker took it, pulling just enough power from one of his Persona’s fire spells to call the spark he needed. At least they wouldn’t be completely blind.

He didn’t count the steps down, but they had to have gone at least several meters underground before the path leveled off. A long hallway continued on; it would be charitable to classify it as anything other than a cave tunnel. There were a few torches, which Joker lit as they passed, but even more sconces which were empty, broken, or missing entirely, their soffits crumbled into useless rubble.

Another door emerged from the darkness. Unlike the first portal, this one was fresh, firm hardwood. That might have been reassuring, except for the reinforced iron hinges, the tiny slit window set with bars, and the thick padlock holding the door shut from the outside. They key was still in it.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Joker muttered. Mona offered no counterpoint, only a look that was almost as worried as Joker felt.

Reaching out with his free right hand, a red glove turned the key with a muffled click. The heavy door swung inwards without a sound, allowing the flickering amber light of the torch to precede them within.

Joker nearly jumped at a flash of movement to one side, brandishing his pistol out of pure instinct. Mona had his slingshot out half a heartbeat later, held in trembling paws.

“No, don’t!” a soft, raspy voice called out. “I’m working hard, please, I am!” The pitch was reedy and dry, as though the speaker longed for a drink, and hoarse with disuse.

Holstering his weapon, Joker slowly moved inside. He stepped around a tall, sturdy workbench just past the doorway, the light of the torch revealing a tiny figure huddled against the opposite side. They recoiled from the light, shielding their face with trembling hands, skin filthy with grime. “Please, leave me be!” they begged, pleading piteously. “I’ll be done in time, I will, I swear!”

For just a moment, the shaking hands parted to reveal the face of the girl behind them, before she flinched away from the torchlight once again. The movement revealed a soiled cloth cap that might once have been white, and beneath it a glimpse of matted, soot-stained hair. The few places where the unevenly shorn locks weren’t soiled black, they were red.

Eyes wide, Joker stared. His mouth hung agape, until he at last managed to form a single word. “…Sumire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter of this story. Each and every hit, kudo, bookmark, subscription, and comment is unspeakably precious to me.
> 
> Cognitive!Shiho in this chapter is a tribute to the tremendously talented Kupow, whose Going the Distance version of Shiho is both delightful and hilarious.
> 
> While I'm plugging, I'd be remiss not to give a tip of the hat to rubhen925 on YouTube. His zero-commentary Let's Play of Royal has been utterly invaluable to me for referencing events, dates, and in-game dialogue. The fact that it's a faithful (pun intended) Sumire playthrough is icing on the cake.


	3. Null Hypothesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where it's due: some more game dialogue in this chapter.

“…Sumire?”

The trembling figure did not respond, except to cower even further from the light of the torch in Joker’s hands. Strangled whispers of “Please… please…” were all the sounds the girl seemed willing to make. He continued to stand there, dumbfounded.

“Poor thing. She’s terrified,” Mona whispered. His ears twitched, and his expression turned wary as he glanced around the room “The security level is starting to rise. We need to go, _now_ ,” he hissed. The urgency of his tone broke through his partner’s stupor.

“Right,” Joker said. Not without reluctance, he tore his gaze away from the forlorn figure huddled on the floor. The two thieves dashed away, out the door and through the tunnel, torch guttering as they ran back up the stairs. They emerged from the shabby entrance to the servant’s quarters before Mona finally raised a paw, calling for a halt.

“Okay, the security level is stable now. I’m still not sensing any Shadows, but that could change at any moment.”

Joker’s jaw was set, eyes hard behind his mask. “We need to get back to the entrance and return to reality for now.” His gloves creaked as his fists clenched at his sides.

Mona nodded, his own expression grim. “Right.”

Knowing the way they’d first traveled had a large number of cognitions gathered in the courtyard, they elected to risk running around the other side of the Palace’s outer wall. Luck was with them, and they completed the circuit unhindered, arriving back at the gates. The Shadows guarding it appeared agitated, pacing in front of the closed doors with their weapons drawn, instead of standing to either side as they had been earlier. By keeping to the shaded corners beneath the hedges, Joker and Mona slipped past without issue. A short dash later, down the gravel carriageway and past the fountain, they emerged once more standing on the paved asphalt of the deserted alley outside Shujin Academy.

“I won’t say that was too close, but let’s not try that again,” Morgana said, hopping back into Akira’s bag as he held it open on the ground.

“Yeah,” he replied simply, starting to walk towards the station as soon as his satchel and its occupant were safely slung over his left shoulder.

“You okay?” Morgana asked.

“I’m fine. Let’s head back to Leblanc and get some rest. Are you still up for briefing the rest of the team about Mementos tomorrow after school?”

The cat popped out of the bag enough to rest his front paws on Akira’s shoulder. “Sure. But is that really what you want?”

Akira stopped. His shoulders hunched. His hands were shoved deep inside his pockets, hiding his clenched fists. “Of course not!” he snapped. “What I _want_ is to hand Yoshizawa-san a calling card right this instant, then come back here and tear those gates down with my bare hands.” He took a deep breath, and then another. After a third, he went on, voice back under control. “Sorry. But what I _need_ is a day or two to cool down before we even think of coming back to this place.”

“Yeah,” Morgana said softly, settling back inside his bag as Akira resumed walking. “I hear that.”

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

After school the next day, the Phantom Thieves met on the Shujin rooftop.

“None of these posts are any good,” Ryuji complained, thumbing through the Phan-Site on his phone as he rocked back on the hind legs of his folding chair. “Everyone’s just bitchin’ about their parents or their boyfriends.”

“We can’t get everything online,” Ann replied. “What’re you checking that for, anyway? Akira said we’ve got the keywords for Yoshizawa-san’s Palace. Is there really a question who our next target is, at this point?”

“It might not be that easy,” Morgana said. “We weren’t kidding about the guards we saw. There’s no way to fight our way past them, and at the moment we don’t have any other way inside the Palace gates.”

“But you said you stopped when you saw Yoshizawa’s Shadow, yeah? There might be a secret passage or somethin’ past that.”

“There could be. Or we could spike the security level again, and end up fighting in a spot that has only one way in or out.” Morgana’s voice and his tail alike were twitching with irritation.

“So? I ain’t sayin’ the fight won’t be tough, but we beat Kamoshida. How much stronger could a couple’a normal Shadows be?”

“This isn’t the same thing as Kamoshida, Ryuji,” Ann said sharply. “Beating up Shadows isn’t the point this time. It sounds like Yoshizawa-san needs our help. We can’t just charge in, guns blazing.”

“We’ll find out more soon enough,” Akira said, jumping in to defuse the mounting argument. “Maybe we can find a way inside, or maybe all we’ll get is a clue about how to change Yoshizawa-san’s cognition, like Morgana explained earlier. But we only have a few days before exams.” Being reminded of that detail in class earlier had put a damper on even his determination to storm Yoshizawa-san’s Palace. Changing Kamoshida’s heart had required exhausting effort; as much as he chafed at the delay, collapsing during his midterms and failing out of Shujin would benefit no one.

Ryuji groaned. “Don’t remind me. I guess you’re right, though. We should prolly hold off ‘til exams are done with, huh?”

Ann frowned. “I don’t like it. We decided to continue as the Phantom Thieves to help people. It feels like we’re abandoning someone who needs us.”

Her compassion did her credit, and Akira agreed wholeheartedly, but it was his responsibility as their leader to maximize their chances for success. No matter how much he hated being practical, sometimes. “We’re not abandoning her,” he said firmly. “I’d like us to head in as a team once, and find out what we can. But even in the best case, we just don’t have time to change her heart until—”

The door to the roof creaked open. Morgana scrambled out of sight just in time, as a girl with short brown hair approached them with purposeful strides. Akira recognized her vaguely from the few trips he’d made to the school library. The three thieves affected nonchalance, even as the newcomer stepped into their midst without hesitation.

“This place is off-limits, you know,” she said, without introduction or preamble.

“We’ll get outta here once we’re done chattin’,” Ryuji said. “Anyways, what’s Miss Council President want with us?”

The girl’s dark red eyes surveyed the group one by one. “The troublemaker, the center of gossip, and the infamous transfer student. Hmm, interesting combination.”

“Great way to start a conversation,” Ann muttered, echoing Akira’s thoughts.

The student council president ignored the comment. “By the way, it seems as though you got to know Mr. Kamoshida pretty well.”

“Not really,” Akira replied. It was true; personally, he’d become much more familiar with King Kamoshida.

“Yeah, y’know he’s only been here a month or so,” Ryuji pointed out.

“I heard Mr. Kamoshida used a volleyball team member to spread details of your past record,” the girl went on, unrelenting. “Don’t you hate him? Mr. Kamoshida, I mean.”

She was certainly perceptive, but Akira decided Shujin’s student council must not have placed great value on the characteristic of subtlety. Or diplomacy.

“What’s all this about?” Ryuji asked, not bothering to hide his indignation. “My friend here’s an upstanding guy.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” the girl replied. She even managed to sound sincere. Akira wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or disturbed by that. “Many students have been shaken up by what happened with Mr. Kamoshida. The rumors about that odd, calling card-esque posting aren’t going away either.”

“I didn’t expect someone like you would care about that tactless stuff, Niijima-senpai,” said Ann.

“We done here? We can’t leave if you keep talkin’ to us.”

“At least try to understand my position. Being forced to deal with this horseplay…”

“Horseplay!?” Ann and Akira both exclaimed. They shared a look, too stunned by the sheer ignorance of the statement to muster a proper response.

Niijima went on, apparently oblivious. “Ah yes, by the way… It’s been decided that this place will be closed off due to the incident.” The smug satisfaction of her tone was stupefying. Her next comment was worse. “I heard some people are coming up here without permission, after all.”

Akira truly hoped that was meant as a joke at the expense solely of those assembled. If it was a reference to Shiho Suzui, no matter how oblique or thoughtless, then this girl was blessed with a breathtaking degree of social ineptitude. He could only stare in mute shock, barely registering as the girl offered them a backhanded apology for her interruption as she walked away. The door squealed shut behind her.

“What was that about?” Ann wondered.

Akira had a more pressing question. “What’s her given name?”

Ann and Ryuji both blinked at him. “Uh… Makoto, I think?” Ann replied.

Akira pulled out his phone. “Makoto Niijima.”

“ _No candidate found_.”

The others stared as he put his phone away. He shrugged. “Just making sure. Seems she’s really just that blunt.”

Morgana jumped down from his hiding spot. “She’s on to us,” he observed.

 _Yes, and she was as delicate about it as a two-by-four to the face,_ Akira thought.

“That girl seems rather sharp. We should be cautious of her.”

As a general rule, Akira was in favor of being cautious of two-by-fours to the face.

“She really pisses me off! Talk about a pain in the ass,” Ryuji said. His customary bluntness was far more honest and refreshing. And he, at least, had the common sense to wait until the subject was out of sight to say it.

“I suppose this does make another point in favor of laying low for a while,” Morgana said. “If another person related to Shujin had a change of heart too quickly, it’d be very suspicious.”

“I don’t like it, but you’re probably right,” Ann said, looking worried. “We may not have a choice.”

“Agreed,” Akira said. “For now, Yoshizawa-san doesn’t appear to be a danger to anyone. The simple fact is her Palace can wait if it has to. Until after exams, at the earliest.” It was true, as much as it galled him to admit it.

“But man, it’s just so lame…” Ryuji complained. “I was all fired up about helpin’ people, not about studyin’.”

“Oh, you were, were you?” Morgana said slyly. “In that case, I guess it’s time we talked about the real reason we asked for everyone to meet up today…”

A few hours later, the group had at last been properly introduced to Mementos. They learned a great deal about both the collective unconscious and the prevalence of Studio Ghibli films therein. They changed the heart of a distorted stalker. And they learned a name.

Madarame.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

With just three days before Shujin’s midterm exams, Akira was blessed with an abundance of distractions. He scrubbed Leblanc’s floors and tables until they gleamed, a small gesture of thanks for Sakura-san trusting him with a key to the place. He spent most of a morning learning a great deal more than he wanted to about Mishima’s level of enthusiasm for the Phantom Thieves. He made the acquaintance of a former Diet member giving speeches in Shibuya Square. He ran into a frazzled Ann on the way to school on Monday morning, and offered a diversion for them both in the form of a study session at the diner on Central Street that night.

On Tuesday, the final day before midterms, Akira allowed himself to reward his own patience and summoned the Phantom Thieves together outside the gates after school.

“Sup?” Ryuji called. He was the last to arrive in the same alcove the group had used for their infiltrations of Kamoshida’s Palace.

“No more studying, please?” Ann begged. “My brain is still fried from last night.”

“Man, I tried pulling an all-nighter last night and ended up fallin’ asleep even earlier than normal.”

“Are you feeling up for a look at Yoshizawa-san’s Palace?” Akira asked. “I figure you both deserve to at least see it, and if we avoid serious fighting we should still be fine for exams.”

“Hell yeah!” Ryuji exclaimed. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Mm-hm,” Ann agreed. “I’ve been hoping you’d ask.”

“All right, then,” Akira said. The group stepped further into the secluded corner of the alley as he launched the Meta-Nav. “Here we go.”

The entrance was just as it had been a few days prior, graveled paths deserted but for the horse-drawn carriages in the distance. Mona’s theory from the first foray was proven true: neither Ann nor Ryuji appeared in their Metaverse costumes to start. Even Akira had reverted to his Shujin uniform once more.

“It’s not at all what I expected, after Kamoshida’s,” Ann remarked. “Even when you described it, I just couldn’t imagine a Palace this… normal. It’s like we’re on the set for a Jane Austen movie.”

“Kinda weird, too, not bein’ dressed up.”

“That can change, if you need it to. Or if we do anything the ruler deems a threat,” Mona explained. “Which we don’t want to do just yet, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Ryuji replied with a dismissive wave. “I still want to get a look at the badass Shadows you mentioned. I bet they’re not so tough.”

“This way, then,” Akira said, leading them down the main path.

They passed the fountain. “That’s pretty,” Ann remarked quietly, turning to admire it.

“She s’posed to be some kinda wizard?” Ryuji remarked, eyeing the marble figure curiously. “What’s with the wand?”

“It’s not a wand, it’s a baton. The water’s supposed to be the long ribbon attached to it. It’s part of their performance art,” Ann explained. “Haven’t you ever watched rhythmic gymnastics?”

Ryuji looked at her blankly. “You seriously askin’ me that?”

“It is an Olympic sport,” Akira pointed out.

“C’mon, man. Sure, I’m lookin’ forward to the track ‘n field shit later this year, but gymnastics?”

“I’m surprised, Skull,” Mona said, grin widening beneath his bandit mask. “I assumed a ruffian like yourself would love watching girls run around in tights.”

“Dude. I was like twelve the last time they had the Olympics.”

“So you admit you’re just immature, then?”

“Hell no, I’ll watch this year, just wait and see!”

Akira buried his face in his hand. The first foray into Mementos seemed to have renewed the pair’s unrelenting tendency to needle one another. “Can we please move on? You’re both embarrassing yourselves.”

Ann smirked at him. “What, you don’t think Yoshizawa-san makes a good-looking statue?”

“That’s not her,” Akira replied. He walked on, hoping the others would take the hint and follow. Thankfully, they did.

The four of them approached the gate, which remained closed. The Shadows stood at attention beside it, lowering their weapons to bar the way when the team reached the path surrounding the Palace. The one on the left spoke. “Gentlemen. Lady Ann. The gates remain closed by order of Duchess Yoshizawa. As before, you—” It trailed off. Behind its mask, the Shadow’s face turned towards Ryuji. In unison, both lowered their rifles, leveling the bayonets at the boy. “You are not on the guest list.”

Ryuji’s uniform vanished. In a flash of blue, Skull was there.

“Oh, crap!” Mona gasped. “Yoshizawa-san must not know him like the rest of us. I figured any uniformed student would be fine!”

“Only invitees and their designated guests are permitted freedom of the grounds,” the second Shadow said, taking a single step forward. “We must ask you to leave.”

“Wait!” Ann said, stepping forward, hands outstretched. “He’s, uh, with me! Yeah.” She stepped back, slipping one arm around Skull’s. “Totally my guest. Totally fine.”

The Shadow halted. Considered. And retreated. “Very well.”

Skull’s attire flared away, restoring Ryuji’s uniform in its place. The group hurried on, before the Shadows had a chance to reconsider.

“That was close. Quick thinking, Panther,” Akira said.

“Okay, you two weren’t kiddin’ about the guards,” Ryuji admitted. “Those guys were intense. I don’t even mind goin’ with Panther to save my ass.”

“Ugh,” Ann said, dropping his arm. “Some gratitude, Skull. See if I bother saving you next time around.” She stormed ahead.

“Smooth, Skull,” Mona sniped. “Wait for me, Panther!”

“I say somethin’ wrong?” Ryuji asked, visibly confused.

Akira clapped his shoulder as he passed. “Just a bit. Let’s go, the cognitions are up ahead.”

“Kidding aside, we’ll need to be careful from here on,” Mona pointed out. “The conditions here may seem calm, but we know now that can change unexpectedly if we slip up or find some gap in the cognition.”

“We may want Panther to avoid meeting her cognition,” Akira surmised. “The same ‘guest’ showing up twice could trigger all kinds of problems.”

“I can feel Carmen right at the edge of my mind in here,” Ann replied. “If we see my double, I can switch over quick.”

“That should work.” Akira nodded. “Most of the cognitions didn’t recognize me after I transformed.”

They arrived at the outer courtyard. Gaudily dressed cognitions of Shujin students and staff continued drifting about, socializing, eating, and drinking as before. “Nothing’s changed here, either,” Mona said, sounding disappointed.

Akira focused on a few of the closest conversations for a few moments. “Yeah. It’s all the same chatter from before.”

“I guess we keep goin’ to the servant place, then,” Ryuji said. He shot a sidelong glance at Ann. “I mean, unless you wanna go see Shiho…?”

Ann shook her head. “To be honest, part of me does… but this wouldn’t be right. It’s just another person’s impression of what Shiho used to be like. She’s doing better in reality. That’s enough for me.”

Akira accepted her choice without comment and led them onwards. Soon, they arrived at the entrance to the servant’s quarters. He willed his clenched fists to open, forcing himself to relax. Like Ann, he had to remember what he was dealing with. They were here for information, to find something they could use to help Yoshizawa-san in reality. No matter how lifelike they seemed, the beings here were not real. And the girl locked behind the door beneath them was not the one they were here to save, at least not exactly.

“Dude, this place is creepy as hell,” Ryuji muttered as they descended the steps. The single torch from the entrance was enough light for them to see their footing, but only just. The rest of the sconces along the way had burned themselves out, and Akira could not relight them. That was not the only change from their first trip: the door at the end of the tunnel was closed and locked once more. Akira was certain he and Morgana had left it open, in their haste to escape the rising security level. Now, there was light coming from inside the locked room, a faint golden glow emanating from the gaps between the thick bars of the tiny window. Akira stopped, considering.

Mona came up beside him. “How do you want to play this?”

He turned, handing the torch to Ryuji. “You three hang back, just a bit. Mona and I frightened her the first time, so I want to play it safe.”

“Okay, man. We’ll come runnin’ if you need us.”

“Be careful,” Ann said.

“Remember, Joker. She may look harmless, but she’s still the source of this distortion,” Mona reminded him.

He nodded, and stepped up to the door. He could hear movement from the other side. Softly, he knocked.

All sound through the door stopped. He waited a few moments, and knocked again, slow and measured. Pounding on the door would probably be just as bad as entering unannounced as they had before.

“Excuse me? May I come in?” he asked. There was no reply. “I heard someone inside. Sorry to bother you; I’m opening the door.” He turned the key, releasing the padlock with a soft click. He opened the door just a fraction. “Is it all right if I come in?”

He waited. And waited. “Hello?”

“Um…” a faint voice, barely audible even in the ambient silence.

“Can I come in?” he repeated.

“…Yes?” It was hesitant, but it was an answer at last. Only then did he open the door the rest of the way.

The first time he’d been here, the room had been lit only by the torch he’d carried. Now, it was still dim, but there were several oil lamps scattered about, providing a meager but consistent illumination. The workbench just inside the door remained as he recalled, though now he could see it was the workplace of a seamstress, covered in bolts of cloth, rolls of lace, and bundles of ribbons in a wide assortment of colors and styles. There were needles and spools of thread, pincushions filled with tiny metal pins, a spinning wheel with skeins of yarn, and even a pair of mannequins placed at either end of the long table, wrapped in half-finished dresses.

However, the room was larger than that; much larger than Akira had first thought. Far longer than it was wide, the space had stone walls, smooth but unpainted, beneath a low, arched ceiling braced with a series of thick wooden crossbeams. The entire area was filled with workspaces much like the one closest to the door.

There was a table covered in thick books sitting next to inkwells. Bold, even lines made them ledgers, rows and rows filled with the cramped, regular notes of household accounts.

There was a pair of wooden tubs, ribbed washboards descending into soapy water.

There was a great brick oven. The fireplace below was unlit, but the table next to it was filled with plates of bread and stacks of pastries.

There was a copper basin, overflowing with filthy dishes on one side, next to stacks upon stacks of clean, neatly piled plates and bowls and silverware on the other.

They went on and on. Piles of garments for mending. Mops and buckets and rough-handled scrubbing brushes. Spotted rags and tins of polish. Vats of dye next to heaps of white cloth. Pots of wax and wicks for candle-making. Half-filled sacks of animal feed. Piles of vegetables, both peeled and not. Half-soled shoes. Tanning. Brewing. Glazing. Pottery.

At the very back of the room, there was a massive hearth, cold and dark, piled high with ash and cinders.

And one girl standing in front of it, unkempt red hair tied up beneath a dirty bonnet, head hung low to hide her eyes.

A piece of Akira felt a fresh wave of sympathy for the girl, but a greater portion found he could not begin to guess what this place represented. In an objective sense, Kamoshida’s Palace and its inhabitant cognitions had been disturbingly straightforward. Unless Yoshizawa-san was being used as a housekeeper by her parents – which wouldn’t make sense, given the cognitive students outside and her distortion being centered on the school – this place was far more abstract. And it was time to start figuring it out. He decided to start simple.

“Hello there.”

The girl shuffled in place, but made no reply.

Even simpler, then. “I’m Akira,” he said, deciding on the spot to risk using his real name. The cognitions and Shadows alike seemed to know him already, especially as he was now, still in his Shujin uniform. He recalled that Kamoshida’s Shadow had recognized Ryuji, Ann, and himself all by name, as well, prior to their awakenings.

“Of course, Sir Akira,” she said, eyes still fixed on the floor. “All the Duchess’ guests are known to me.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, then, miss…?”

She wrung her hands against the front of her stained apron. “Sumire.”

One piece of proof, at least, that the owner of the Palace and Duchess Yoshizawa were not one and the same. Unsurprising, perhaps, but useful. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, you seem to be very busy in here.”

“All guests are free to roam the grounds outside the manor. I…” she trailed off.

“Yes?” Akira prompted.

“I don’t wish to offend a guest, but I still have so much work... Everything has to be ready in time for the Duchess’ ball.”

“Can I help?”

She cringed, hunching in on herself as if he had threatened to strike her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply… Please, I’m not complaining. I just…”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. Remembering his trick with the cognition of Shiho earlier, he decided to change tracks. “You’ve done so much already. The Duchess must be very proud to have the help of someone so capable.”

“You’re very kind,” she whispered. Far from being buoyed, she seemed to wilt before the praise. “But I still have much to do.”

This was making less and less sense. Akira had hoped to reassure her enough to bring in the rest of the team without frightening her, but he feared even suggesting that now would cause her to withdraw entirely. Perhaps it would be best to retreat for now, at least until they could puzzle out more of the nature of her distortion.

“I suppose I should let you get back to work. In case no one’s ever said it… Thank you, Sumire.”

Of all things, that was what sparked a positive reaction. Startled, she looked up.

It was a face he knew. First seen only as a glimpse in torchlight, and yet familiar all the same. A fleeting smile on the train. A stubborn frown in the halls of Shujin. A faraway stare beneath an umbrella. And now, surprise, revealed in spite of layers of grey ash. A pair of wide, uncertain red eyes, set above streaks of pale skin where long-dried tears had washed away the soot. “Umm… You’re… welcome?”

Akira smiled, offering that simplest gesture of human kindness. “I hope you don’t mind if I visit you again.” He turned and left.

Once the door had shut, the others emerged from the shadows where they had been listening in. “That poor girl,” Ann whispered. “What on Earth is she going through, to see herself like that?”

“It’s messed up, man.” Ryuji slouched, hanging his head with a sigh. “We gotta help her.”

“I didn’t see any other exits,” Mona said. “I don’t think this is our infiltration route.”

Akira nodded. “Yeah. Dead end, for now.” He sighed, trying and failing to rid himself of a nagging sense of unease. “We may not have any choice but to talk to Yoshizawa-san in reality. This won’t be easy.”

Ryuji scratched the back of his head. “Hey, Joker. I’ve been thinking.”

Akira offered him a wan smile. “Sounds dangerous.”

The other boy snorted. “Somethin’s been naggin’ at me about this place. Kamoshida’s Shadow was a big shot, runnin’ his Palace just like he was the school in reality. But Yoshizawa doesn’t seem the same, to me. I mean, even if we find the Treasure and all, can you even picture fightin’ her like we did Kamoshida? Just doesn’t feel right, man.”

“You might be surprised what happens, once the calling card is delivered,” Mona countered. “She might not look like it now, but she’s still a Palace ruler. Threaten the source of her distorted desires, and her Shadow’ll fight like a cornered animal.”

“Maybe,” said Akira. “I just can’t help but think we’re missing something, though. Something simple.”

“Don’t know how to break this to ya, Joker,” Ryuji replied, smirking. “But you’re right. We don’t even have a way inside the Palace, yet. Doesn’t get much simpler than that.”

“I think it does, actually.” Akira looked over his shoulder at the door behind them. “I think that’s not the Palace ruler.”

“The Nav says the Palace belongs to Sumire Yoshizawa, though,” Ann said, confused. “And the Shadow just admitted to you that she’s Sumire. You think she’s lying?”

“Not at all. I think Skull was right in the first place: I don’t think that’s her Shadow. Her eyes were red, not gold. I think that’s a cognition.”

Morgana visibly shook himself. “Wait. You think she has a cognition. Of _herself_? Inside her own Palace? I… don’t know how that’s even possible.”

“Neither do I,” he replied. Though in his own limited experience with the Metaverse, Akira had found that much more useful than the question ‘how?’ was the question ‘why?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Makoto, but if you look at that first conversation on the rooftop without the context the player has of knowing she's being bullied into it by Kobayakawa? Yikes.
> 
> Irrelevant AU headcanon note: Ann is a huge Jane Austen fan. The first movie her parents took her to see as a little girl was the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, and she idolized Rosamund Pike ever since. It doesn't have any significance, but it made me smile to imagine her holding on to that, especially after moving back to a country where anything but dark hair is stigmatized.


	4. Order of Operations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more bits of game dialogue in this chapter.

Sumire Yoshizawa did not dream.

She awoke before her alarm, lying in bed as she stared at the digital clock on her desk. She curled up on her right side beneath the blankets, drawing the comforter to the edge of her chin. She had always slept best in winter and early spring, when the cold allowed her to burrow beneath the covers. Kasumi had often teased her that she was part mole.

And with that thought, the numbers on the digital display across the room began to blur. Her bed was one of two places where Sumire allowed herself to cry. She still broke down at other times, of course, because… well, the usual reasons. But here, at least, she didn’t bite the inside of her lip and try to force her thoughts away from the only person besides her parents who had been a part of her life since the literal moment of her conception. The pillowcase grew damp beneath her cheek, but it could have been worse. She still had time.

She’d always hated the sound of the electronic alarms on the clocks Kasumi had chosen for their rooms, so as always she pushed back her comfortable blankets and rose a minute beforehand to turn it off. She couldn’t bring herself to simply buy a new clock, and the alarm on her phone had been unreliable since… well, since then. She’d long become accustomed to just waking up early. It could have been worse.

Sumire left her room for the bathroom she had shared with her sister. Her family’s condominium in Kichijoji was palatial by Tokyo standards: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, with a separate kitchen and dining/family room. Such lavish luxury was thanks in part to her father’s job at the television station, but even more due to her mother’s position as a corporate attorney for the station’s network. She knew both her parents worked very hard to allow them to live so comfortably. The least she could do in return was stop worrying them… well, more than she already had, anyway.

The shower was the other place she allowed herself to cry. It seemed to have become part of her morning routine, right there in order with brushing her teeth and combing her hair. It could have been worse; she had the time to spare, wearing her hair long and straight and unadorned. Kasumi had always taken those extra fifteen minutes each morning to get the ends of her ponytail curled just so. Sumire wiped those thoughts away like the fog on the bathroom mirror, and returned to her room to dress.

Her entire family teased her about her fashion sense, but Sumire liked the Shujin Academy uniform. The turtleneck was comfortable, the same way her blankets in winter were comfortable, and she thought the little black bow on the collar was cute. The blazer made her think of poise and maturity and her mother’s business suits, and the buttons matched her hair almost perfectly. The pattern on the skirt was pleasantly distinctive, and she couldn’t have been a gymnast if she wasn’t at ease in full-length pantyhose. More than anything, though, the outfit let her feel unique, in a way nothing else had in years. Kasumi had never worn it.

Before she could cry again, Sumire put on her glasses. The lenses weren’t corrective, but at this point they were a mnemonic trigger, like a pattern followed to music in one of her routines. The weight of them gave her focus, the subtle glint of the plastic a constant reminder. When the glasses went on, her day began.

Her parents were both at work by the time she left for school. She opened the refrigerator to remove the bento she had prepared the night before, placing it inside her bag. Breakfast was a protein shake; Fridays were peach-flavored. It was large enough to last her through her walk to the station and most of the ride on the Keio Inokashira Line to Shibuya. The transfer to the Ginza Line was troublesome, but it could have been worse. The trains on the second leg of her commute were twice as crowded, but the trip was half as long.

Shujin uniforms became progressively more common as she went. By the time she reached Aoyama-Itchome, she was just a part of the crowd. No one greeted her. No friends called her name, offering to walk with her the rest of the way. It could have been worse; she didn’t overhear any whispers about “the honor student” today, either.

On arriving at Shujin Academy, Sumire ignored the knots of students mingling outside or loitering near the billboards. She liked that the first years were on the third floor; she took the stairs two at a time all the way up. She wasn’t breathing hard when she reached the top, but her heart was beating just that little bit faster. It felt almost like being excited for the day. She entered 1-D and found herself alone, the first to arrive. She went to her seat by the window, and took advantage of her solitude to slouch in a way both her mother and Coach Hiraguchi would scold her for, resting her chin on her palm and gazing outside at passing clouds. She would stay that way until she heard the door open, relishing the rebellion of this small indulgence for as long as it would last.

It was the third day of midterm exams, but class was unremarkable all the same. While she had genuine passion for gymnastics, in school Sumire had always been what her teachers called a “good student”: reliable and diligent without being noteworthy in any particular subject. Privately, she found most lessons dull and did homework during lectures in the guise of taking notes. It could have been worse; she had been more dedicated in the past, but had fallen into the habit of getting good grades for token effort, rather than driving herself hard for second-best. Kasumi had always been the top scorer in their years.

In spite of midterms, the last period was released an hour before the final bell for the assembly that had been announced earlier in the week. Sumire moved with the crowd as the students headed for the gymnasium, muttering as they went about interruptions and posturing by the faculty. It could have been worse; they might have waited until after school tomorrow, postponing the weekend after the final day of exams to put on another show of conspicuous concern.

The principal stepped onto the stage to speak. “Ever since that specific incident, many of you have voiced concerns that I could not bear to ignore.”

Considering most of the concerns Sumire had heard voiced on the way down, the fact that they were standing here gave lie to that statement.

“We believe the mental health of our student body is absolutely vital,” Kobayakawa went on, “so we’ve acquired the services of a therapist.”

For an instant, Sumire froze. Then she forced herself to breathe. It wasn’t about her. It couldn’t be about her. The principal had said “that specific incident,” as if there were anyone present who wouldn’t know he was referring to Suzui-senpai. The friendly second-year who had been assigned to show Sumire around the campus on her first day, and then tried to take her own life less than a month later. This was just another piece of damage control after that strange calling card and the bad press following Mr. Kamoshida’s dramatic confession, and had nothing to do with Sumire.

“The floor is yours, Doctor…”

As soon as the boyishly handsome man in the white lab coat appeared, whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “It’s nice to meet you all. My name is—” there was a burst of static, and the microphone cut out. The man fiddled with it for a moment, tapping the receiver to test the pickup. “My name is Takuto Maruki.”

His mouth kept moving, but Sumire couldn’t make out the words. All she could hear was an unpleasant buzz, but this time, it wasn’t the microphone. How? How was it even possible in a city the size of Tokyo for a coincidence like this to happen? Dr. Maruki, Dr. Takuto Maruki, the clinical psychologist with whom Sumire’s parents had made her an appointment, when she had remained inconsolable two weeks after her sister’s death. An appointment Sumire had absented, getting as far as the door of the building where Dr. Maruki’s office was located before she fled back home in shame. She had gone to her parents in tears, promising to do better, to stop worrying them, to move on with Kasumi’s memory.

The next day had been her first at Shujin Academy.

The humiliation came flooding back. That she had pushed her parents to the point of that drastic action, as if they too had not been dealing with Kasumi’s death, was mortifying. Somehow, the thought that Dr. Maruki knew as much as he did about her problems – whatever her parents might have told him – and she had failed to respect his expertise with so much as a meeting was even worse. Clenching her eyes shut, _demanding_ her composure remain in place, Sumire made a decision. She would have to make this an opportunity, to apologize to Dr. Maruki face-to-face and hope he didn’t resent her decision. After all, it could have been worse.

Somehow, it could always be worse.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

The students filed out of the gymnasium and returned to their homerooms. After fearing she had missed the relevant information in her moment of panic during the assembly, Sumire was saved at least one awkward question when the teacher informed her class that the new counselor would be available after school in the nurse’s office. As soon as the final bell rang, she gathered her things and left. That much was routine. Her destination was not.

There was almost no place in the school further away from her classroom on the third floor than the nurse’s office, which was on the first floor of the Practice Building. Even so, it was surprising to arrive and see a sign posted on the door that read “Please do not enter, counseling in progress.” Sumire was a little taken aback to find that anyone had taken up the school’s offer so readily.

With the students dismissed for the day and no club meetings during exams, the building was all but deserted. Sumire decided it was safe to wait outside the nurse’s office, even though she was unsure how long it might be before Dr. Maruki was available to speak to her. She managed to keep her phone on long enough to send a text to Coach Hiraguchi explaining why she might be a little late. Her practices were five days a week, with Sundays and either Wednesday or Thursday off, depending on her coach’s schedule. While Sumire had standing permission from the school to leave early so she could attend her training as part of her scholarship, she didn’t actually _need_ to in order to make it on time. She usually left a few minutes before the final bell, once the teacher had concluded their last lecture, simply to avoid the rush.

Lost in thought, Sumire jumped when the door beside her slid open.

As soon as she saw the girl who emerged from the nurse’s office, it made perfect sense that the school’s new counselor had been so promptly occupied. If there was anyone still here who deserved a chance to vent about Mr. Kamoshida, it was Ann Takamaki. Naturally blonde and almost intimidatingly beautiful, the few centimeters’ difference in their height felt like so much more up close, even though Sumire was tall for her age. She felt a stab of guilt when the girl startled on seeing her lurking beside the door.

“Yoshizawa-san!” she exclaimed. Sumire blinked, unsure for a moment of why the other girl would know her name, until she remembered Suzui-senpai’s mention of her best friend. There was an awkward pause, and a look of something almost like concern flickered through the older girl’s pretty turquoise eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Were you here to meet with Dr. Maruki? I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.”

“Not at all. I’m very sorry for startling you, Takamaki-senpai.” Sumire bowed in apology. If they both knew each other’s names already, by reputation if nothing else, there was no sense making things worse with an awkward introduction.

“No problem,” she said, waving the comment away with one hand while adjusting the strap of her bag with the other. She seemed to want to say more, her mouth half-open with a tense look around her eyes, but instead she shook her head, twin tails swaying with the movement. “Have a nice day, Yoshizawa-san,” she said, her smile and tone making the words feel far more heartfelt than the usual pleasantry.

“And you as well, Takamaki-senpai,” she replied, offering another bow. The other girl walked off, giving her a final, friendly wave before digging out her phone and tapping away as she went.

“Hm? Was there someone else here already?” a new voice said from inside the still-open door to the nurse’s office. Dr. Maruki stepped into the hall. “Goodness, I wasn’t expecting to be so popular so quickly,” he added, chuckling.

“Dr. Maruki. My name is Sumire Yoshizawa. I wanted to offer you my sincerest apologies.” Sumire took a half-step back and bowed deeply. 

“Um,” he said, as she held the bow. “Thanks? But what do you have to be so sorry for?”

Sumire rose. “I had an appointment with you in March, and I’m afraid I disrespected you by failing to show up for it.”

Recognition dawned in the man’s dark brown eyes. “Oh! Yoshizawa-san, was it? I remember now. Please, don’t beat yourself up over such a thing. You’d be surprised how many appointments get canceled at the last minute.”

Sumire bit the inside of her lip, unsure how to express what she was really worried about without insulting the doctor all over again. “Even so, my parents made an appointment with you on such short notice, and we never even spoke. I don’t…”

His smile was kind, and his expression understanding. “Ah, I think I see. Yoshizawa-san, we may not have met each other before today, but as soon as you had an appointment with me, you became one of my patients. And I take my patients’ confidentiality very seriously. Nothing that I know or learn or that is said between us in private is repeated or revealed to anyone else. Not even your parents.”

Sumire could have wilted in relief. “I’m sorry, it’s just… The faculty here know about… about my sister. But none of the students do. Well, almost none,” she added, a bit lamely. There were rumors, always rumors, but she was thinking of the one in particular who knew her actual story.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, I do hope you’re referring to friends here you’ve been willing to talk to.”

Were they? Friends? She hadn’t even spoken to him since that day in April, but there was no one else at Shujin even close to qualifying. “I… guess?” she said hesitantly, not wanting to lie.

“Well, that’s good.” Maruki smiled again, and it sent a spark of familiarity through her.

“He’s one of my senpai here. You remind me of him a little, actually,” she realized aloud, her relief and the doctor’s promise of confidentiality making her uncharacteristically bold. “He has messy hair and glasses, just like you. He’s a little awkward.” _Reaching up to tug at a lock of his bangs_. “A little strange.” _You… bring a cat… to school?_ “But gentle and kind.” _I care. Because you do._

“That sounds like high praise, indeed,” Maruki replied. “I hope to prove myself worthy of it, to you and all the other students at Shujin while I’m here.”

For the first time in what felt like months, Sumire felt the urge to really, truly smile. “You know, I really am sorry. Not just because I missed my appointment, but because you do seem like a good person. Someone to talk to. I’m sorry to have missed the opportunity.”

“You know, Yoshizawa-san, the school has retained me to counsel the student body for a few days a week, but there’s nothing in my contract that stipulates what we have to talk about. It’s not as though I’m here only for the students who had to deal with Mr. Kamoshida.”

His words were supportive. They sounded sincere. They should have _felt_ reassuring. But for some reason, Sumire was abruptly unsettled, as though she were standing on a pile of sand that shifted and collapsed a bit more every time she tried to plant her feet. She didn’t even have time to consider her sudden apprehension before Maruki’s gaze was drawn up and over her shoulder, followed by the sound of footsteps.

“My, another one? It’s good to see you again,” the doctor said, still wearing his friendly, welcoming smile. “I’m going to have to start making appointments at this rate!”

Sumire turned, and the pile of sand became a yawning black pit that threatened to swallow her whole.

Akira Kurusu stared at her, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Yoshizawa-san?”

“You know each other as well? Oh!” Maruki gasped. “Messy hair and glasses, huh? I thought that sounded familiar. I can certainly see a bit of the resemblance you mentioned, Yoshizawa-san.”

Her face was suddenly on fire. _Why?_ Her heart was pounding in her chest. _Why?_ Kurusu-senpai reached up to tug at his bangs, just like she remembered, and it sent a lance of pain straight into the base of her skull. _Why, why, why?_

“Were you here for a session, too?” Maruki asked, from somewhere far, far behind her. “Your friend was…” his voice faded away, muffled as if she was trying to hear through deep water.

Kurusu-senpai blinked at her. _You, too? Too, too, too._ His gaze grew concerned. _Because you do._ “Are you okay?” _Gentle and kind_.

 _He knows_. _What?_

 _He knows._ _Why?_

_He knows._

_What’s wrong with me!?_

_HE KNOWS_.

She ran.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

Sumire ran. She didn’t hear the shouts behind her, or the surprised exclamations as she dodged small crowds around the school entrance. She didn’t care about the stares she drew, or the bodies she jostled while moving down the alley at a dead sprint. She was physically fit, and terrified beyond thought, faster and more agile than anyone who might care to give chase. She ran, and did not stop until she dashed inside the first open train door she saw.

She pressed her back against the doors as soon as they closed, gasping for air. Her limbs were shaking with a heady mix of strain, adrenaline, and terror. But the instant her rational mind began to reassert itself, it only replaced her fear with an even more oppressive sense of shame. _I think I just made things worse_.

No one nearby was paying her any mind, the patrons of Tokyo’s mass transit system long inured to the sight of random passersby making a desperate dash for a departing train. As she waited for her racing heart to calm, or at least stop beating quite so hard, she checked the signage. The familiar orange circles that marked the Ginza Line were a small relief, though she saw she was going in the wrong direction. She’d have to disembark at Akasaka-mitsuke and head the other way to get back to Shibuya. The extra rail fare was the least of her worries at the moment.

Her head was throbbing. What in the world had come over her? One moment she’d been awash in relief, having a simple, pleasant conversation with Dr. Maruki. The next, she was fleeing in terror from her senpai and the school’s new counselor. She felt like laughing and crying all at once at the thought of what the psychologist must have made of that reaction.

What was wrong with her? She tried replaying the conversation in her head. She had made a few innocuous comments about Kurusu-senpai to Dr. Maruki. Messy hair and glasses? Anyone with functioning vision would have described him just that way. It wasn’t as if the doctor had been trying to embarrass her; the rest of what she’d said, however sentimental, hadn’t even been repeated.

After that… she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t suppress a small whine from the back of her throat as her head gave another pounding throb, but it was lost amidst the noise of the moving train. All she could recall was an unexpected, irrational, existential terror. She hoped Dr. Maruki was true to his word, and wouldn’t tell her parents about what had happened. It would be bad enough if the school did, without them learning Sumire had gone and spoken to the psychologist she had promised them she didn’t need to see. It would just make them worry about her all over again.

One more thing she’d have to apologize for. One more mistake she’d have to pretend didn’t bother her. One more crack in the broken, useless doll she’d become. As if she wasn’t already fragile enough.

The train reached Akasaka. She checked the time and sighed; her little detour was definitely going to make her late to practice. Coach Hiraguchi wasn’t cruel or abusive, but she was uncompromising. Every minute she was tardy would have to be made up tenfold in time and effort. Sumire boarded the Ginza Line heading back the way she had come. Dreading the extra repetitions she was in for at practice made a decent distraction from the rest of the problems rattling around inside her broken head.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

“Stop.”

Sumire stumbled to a halt mid-motion. She looked up in confusion, blinking away the sweat dripping into her eyes, tugging at the strap of her sports bra where the fabric had been clinging uncomfortably from the perspiration.

Coach Hiraguchi strode out onto the mat, pressing a button on the remote in her hand to pause the music from the stereo. “Sumire. What was that?”

She kept blinking against the sting of salt, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’ve never used the sequence you just attempted in any of your routines. You’ve never _practiced_ it, at least not while I was watching.”

Sumire bowed, forcing her tired limbs to be properly still. “I’m very sorry.”

Coach Hiraguchi shook her head. “I’m not asking for an apology. But I would like an explanation.”

“Well… I…” Sumire stammered. “I honestly don’t know. It just… happened.”

Her coach frowned, running a hand through her short black hair. “Sumire, your strengths as a gymnast have always been your natural grace, and your technical discipline. You know what your body can do, and when it can do it. You know your cues and routines and execute them with the precision of a metronome. This is a great advantage, but it’s also is why your growth spurt has been so hard on you. You’ve been a challenge to me, I confess. I’ve never had a student so backwards.”

Unsure whether she was being scolded or complimented, Sumire remained silent.

Coach Hiraguchi sighed. “I think I’ve told you before, gymnasts learn to dance, and then they learn to perform?”

Sumire nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you know what I meant?”

She stared, like she’d just been called on in class while she wasn’t paying attention. “Um…”

Hiraguchi held up a hand. “Right. I thought so.”

Sumire hung her head. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

“None of that, now. This is my fault, so I’ll explain. It’s the nature of gymnastics as a sport. Speaking from experience, girls must constantly learn and re-learn how to move, and so we start by learning how to dance. Essentially, I mean rhythm, momentum, and spatial awareness. ‘The basics,’ more crudely. Once we reach physical maturity and can stop tripping over our own feet, _then_ we can learn how to move with consistency, precision, and elegance. In a word, performance. Do you follow?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She’d never heard gymnastics explained quite that way, but it at least made a certain amount of sense.

Coach Hiraguchi placed a hand on Sumire’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. It was a little startling to Sumire; her gymnastics teacher of almost nine years had always tended towards the hands-off, disciplinarian type. “You’ve just turned fifteen. You became a gifted performer in a body that was changing on you every single day, until you just couldn’t keep up any more.”

Sumire opened her mouth, but Hiraguchi stopped her with a single upraised finger. “Young lady, if you apologize to me for experiencing puberty, I will make you run laps.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“Good girl. Soon enough, your head will catch up again. You may not think so now, but you’ll have to just trust your coach. I’m an old lady, I _know_ things.”

She didn’t look old, but even Sumire knew better than to say so out loud.

“So, when that day comes, I get to teach you how to exploit your talents by moving with flair and style. I get to teach a graceful, proficient performer how to _dance_.” She grinned. “The judges won’t know what hit them.”

Sumire tried to return her coach’s smile, only partly succeeding. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“In the meantime, we need to get your mess of a routine sorted out,” Coach Hiraguchi said, once more the stern, relentless figure of Sumire’s youth. “These deviations you’re introducing are just all wrong. I’d almost think you were improvising, but we both know that’s not the case.”

Sumire was confused all over again. “What do you mean?”

“I’m old, but I’m not blind. I’ve taught you girls since you were six; I recognize Kasumi’s moves when I see them. You put enough pressure on yourself as it is, Sumire, without trying something like that. Let the dead rest in peace, at least when you’re on the floor. Inside those lines, the living have work to do.” She turned to walk off the mat, using the remote to start the music from the beginning. “From the top, now. And don’t forget, you still owe me three extra rounds of combinations for being late!”

That night, an exhausted Sumire Yoshizawa dreamt of dancing. She had a red ribbon in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most heartfelt apologies to anyone who knows the first thing about gymnastics, as I surely do not.


	5. Gatecrashing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More game dialogue in parts. This is Atlus' sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
> 
> Chapter title was modified 5/30/20; content of the text remains unchanged. See author's notes for chapter six for more details.

As they waited on the platform for the train to Aoyama, Ryuji yawned hugely. “I’m so sleepy,” he slurred. “I ended up pullin’ an all-nighter once I realized today’s the last day of exams.”

Yawning was supposed to be contagious, but Akira had apparently achieved immunity through preoccupation. He barely registered Morgana’s snarky rejoinder.

“You? Staying up studying?”

“Nah, I gave up on the exam. I was playin’ some games, and then before I knew it, it was morning.”

Akira’s night hadn’t been much more restful, though for a different reason. Now a month into his stay in Tokyo, he had gotten used to the fact that his school at large had branded him a dangerous delinquent and given him a wide berth. But for all that, he couldn’t forget the look of stark terror on Sumire Yoshizawa’s face when she had run away from him as though her life was in danger.

He swayed. Not from fatigue, but a fist impacting his shoulder. He turned to find Ryuji giving him a wide grin. “C’mon, man. You need to get out of your own head. There’s a reason Yoshizawa did what she did, and I’ll bet every yen in my wallet it didn’t have shit to do with you.”

Akira had texted the others about what he’d seen after school, of course, but it had proven unnecessary. By the time he’d stumbled his way through a session with Dr. Maruki, half-dazed and almost sick with worry, the story of Yoshizawa-san's flight had spread through Shujin almost as fast as she had run. It was a small mercy that no one had seen the takeoff, though that just meant theories of Akira's involvement were scattered among the many, many wild speculations devised by the school’s hyperactive rumor mill.

“That isn’t saying much, Ryuji. We both know you’re broke,” Akira joked weakly.

“Harsh, man. True. But harsh. We should hit another you-know-what,” he said, conscious of the fact that they were standing in a crowd on a public train platform. “The share from the first place was sweet. It was nice havin’ a little pocket change without havin’ to beg my ma, y’know?”

Ann walked up, frowning. “Ryuji, when I see you two standing together, I don’t want to overhear a conversation that sounds like you’ve just knocked off a bank.”

“What? I was bein’ all discreet and shit.”

“You get points for trying, at least. We should work out some code words,” Akira suggested.

“I second that idea,” Morgana piped up. “True Phantom Thieves should be proficient at disguising their conversations in public.”

“Says the one member who doesn’t have to worry about being overheard,” replied Akira.

“Hey, I’ll still use the code,” he protested. “As long as it’s not Ryuji who comes up with it. I refuse to participate in infiltrating the Arcades of distorted Kings to defeat Slimes and steal their Beef Bowls.”

Akira smiled. Ryuji laughed aloud. “Okay. I gotta admit you got me good with that one.”

Even Ann chuckled a little. “Oh, shut up you two,” she protested good-naturedly. “You’re gonna make me forget everything I memo—” she trailed off, turning abruptly, brows knotted in concern. “Am I imagining things?” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Akira asked softly, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“You see a groper or something?” Ryuji asked, less inconspicuously.

“No, that’s not it,” Ann replied. “It’s… nothing.”

Their conversation paused when the train arrived at their platform, and the three of them boarded. The ride passed in silence, or at least without their trying to talk over the persistent rattle and rumble of the railcar. They disembarked at Aoyama-Itchome station; Ann glanced over her shoulder before shifting her look of concern to Akira directly. “I got your message last night. I’m worried about Yoshizawa-san. I ran into her outside Dr. Maruki’s office, just like I texted you about. She seemed fine when I left.”

“Ya think the doc said somethin’ to her?” Ryuji wondered.

“He didn’t seem like a bad guy, but I don’t know what else could have happened,” Ann said. She looked sharply at Akira. “And before you say anything, no, it was _not_ your fault.”

Akira’s smile was rueful. “You both know me too well.”

“Nah, man. You’re just not all that scary. All gangly arms ‘n legs. Sixty kilos soaking wet, amirite?”

Ann giggled. “And can you picture his hair if he was? As threatening as a waterlogged kitten.”

“Ha, ha,” he said. But his heart was just a little bit lighter.

Ann glanced behind them as they boarded the escalator. Her smile vanished. “Oh my god, that guy! He followed us from Shibuya!” She glanced at Akira, face twisted with worry. “Isn’t this bad?”

Ryuji yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s the subway. A lot of folks ‘followed’ us from Shibuya, ya know?”

Ann scowled at him, hands planted on her hips. “Hey! At least act like you care!”

“Rrgh, fine,” Ryuji grumbled. “Come on.” His eyes darted to Akira as he jerked his chin towards the top of the moving steps. The three wove their way through the more passive commuters ahead of them to reach ground level more quickly, taking up spots for a defensive feint trap.

And thus, Yusuke Kitagawa stepped off of the escalator and into the proverbial picture.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

Making the acquaintance of a slightly off-axis young artist was not the expected result of confronting a would-be stalker. Invitations to an art exhibition were not the expected result of said meeting. And the discovery of a new Palace was certainly not the expected result of visiting said art exhibition. All in all, it was a strange few days, even by the standards of a young man who was friends with a talking cat.

The day after they had discovered the keywords and made their first foray within the museum Palace of Ichiryusai Madarame, the Phantom Thieves met by the vending machines in the Shujin courtyard.

“I got a response from Kitagawa-kun. He said he wants me to come over after school today,” Ann said. Much like their discovery of Sumire’s Palace, they were unwilling to proceed without direct evidence of wrongdoing in reality by the owner of the distortion. And unlike the situation with Yoshizawa-san, they still had leads that they could easily run down.

“Perfect! Probably dropped all his plans just to get you over there,” Ryuji replied, waggling his eyebrows.

Ann was getting very good at ignoring innuendo in the current situation… and getting a bit too much practice at it, as well. Akira was near the point of pulling Ryuji aside and asking him to tone it down a bit; Ann had been through enough of that crap with the rumors about Kamoshida. He knew Ryuji wasn’t being insensitive on purpose, but his friend had a tendency to ignore the big picture in favor of a good laugh in the moment. It was usually a good thing, right up until it wasn’t.

“We need to find out from Kitagawa-kun if what we saw in the Palace was true,” Ann emphasized. “Though I wish it didn’t feel so much like we were getting sidetracked.”

“We have to focus on what we can accomplish,” Akira replied, trying to convince himself as much as the others. As frustrating as it was, even he could make no rational argument to prioritize their fellow student over Madarame. With no way to infiltrate the former’s Palace and with all three of them reluctant to confront Yoshizawa-san in reality after Akira’s last encounter, they were at a dead end. For all their questions and concerns, Akira was forced to admit there was little they could _do_. And so the matter had been essentially tabled in favor of Yusuke Kitagawa and the alleged depredations of his famous mentor.

“Sorry. You’re right,” said Ann. “I need to get my head in the game for later.”

Morgana’s ears perked up from his spot on the table. “Hey, quiet down. It’s that student council president.”

“Yikes,” said Ryuji. “She got a hold of Mishima today?” Sure enough, they could see Niijima-senpai talking to the webmaster of the Phan-Site on the other side of the courtyard. “It’d suck if she noticed us. C’mon, let’s split up.”

They reconvened inside the Shibuya accessway that had become their new hideout, before heading to Madarame’s atelier. Kitagawa-kun proved more than just reluctant to discuss their reservations, and grew increasingly defensive and hostile as they pressed him about his sensei’s behavior. In the end, the young man’s threat to contact the authorities chased them off before they could get anything more than circumstantial confirmation of their suspicions.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

The next day, they received an unexpected break courtesy of Mishima. Natsuhiko Nakanohara, their first Mementos target and the source of their earliest hint about Madarame’s Palace, had reached out via the Phan-Site after his change of heart. From him, they received first-hand confirmation of the plagiarism and abuse the Palace had led them to suspect. Worse, they were told of the fatal consequences for at least one of the students Madarame had exploited and subsequently discarded. What had been a distraction had now become a more urgent problem. The Phantom Thieves' next target was decided.

Unfortunately, their resolve didn’t stop them from hitting yet another roadblock.

“Are these… infrared lasers?” Panther exclaimed. “There’s no way we can get past them…” Much like the closed gates of Yoshizawa’s Palace, the defenses of Madarame’s cognitive world had presented them with a seemingly impassable barrier.

“‘All personnel: This door can only be opened via the security room that lies beyond it,’” Panther read from the sign posted in front of the lasers. “‘Please be cautious, as it is impossible to open from the outside.’”

“So, it’s never gonna open!? This shit’s just as bad as Yoshizawa’s place,” Skull complained. “How’re we suppose to get past!?”

“Not quite, Skull. That door… I think I’ve seen that pattern somewhere…” Mona said. “Oh, right! There’s no mistaking it! I think I know what real-world door that’s based on. There may be another way to open it! Come on, we need to leave for now. I can explain more when we’re safe.”

Once outside the Metaverse, they remained near the atelier to discuss their plans.

“So how’re we supposed to get past that door?” Ann asked.

“Do you remember how this shack is the basis for Madarame’s Palace,” Morgana said, “and how I scouted it out the last time we were here?”

“You only went ‘scouting’ because you were bored,” she countered.

“W-Well, the fact remains that I saw a locked door inside the house that closely matches the one inside the Palace.”

“How does that help?” Ryuji wondered. “I mean, Yoshizawa’s Palace is based on the school, but I ain’t seen anything like the locked gate there around Shujin. So what’s it matter?”

“It means that the cognitive block in Yoshizawa-san’s Palace is more… metaphorical, I guess. It’s like keeping a secret: if you don’t tell anyone, you can believe no one knows what you’re hiding,” Morgana explained. “In Madarame’s case, it’s more literal. There’s a locked door inside his house only he can get past, and so there’s a locked door in his Palace, as well. But because there’s a direct connection, we can use one to change the cognition of the other. All we have to do is open the real door in front of Madarame’s eyes.”

Ann scratched her head, puzzling through the explanation. “In other words… when we open the one in Madarame’s house, that area in his Palace will open on its own?”

“Precisely! There’s no chance it won’t open… I think.”

“It sounds like it’s worth a try, at least,” Akira said.

“I can get the lock open with a hairpin and enough time,” Morgana continued. “The problem is going to be finding a way to keep Madarame occupied long enough for me to do that. And that means someone else has to find a way inside to serve as a distraction.”

Once they had their objectives, planning proceeded from there.

Ann was less than pleased by their options.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

The operation was crude, in more ways than one. The results were the textbook definition of a mixed bag.

The cognition change, at least, worked exactly as Morgana had described. He unlocked the door in reality, Madarame saw it, and within the Palace the security was disabled. Everything else devolved into an improvised mess. Madarame had contacted his private security, forcing Ann to flee into the Palace from within the house. Not only did that drop herself and Morgana directly into the part of the Palace that corresponded to the entry point in reality, it ended up bringing Yusuke Kitagawa along for the ride.

Kitagawa-kun did not take the appearance of his teacher’s distorted desires smoothly. Nor did he respond particularly well to the revelation of his master’s Shadow. When it came to the sinister gloating that resulted in Yusuke’s awakening to a Persona, however, Madarame’s Shadow fared far, far worse.

Just as had happened with Akira, Ryuji and Ann against Kamoshida, though, realizing the will to fight was not enough in and of itself. The Madarame in reality knew Ann had been in his home, and knew from Yusuke’s prior encounters of her links to Akira and Ryuji. While he couldn’t risk the bad publicity of a scandal during his exhibition, he was preparing to press charges as soon as it was over, to prevent what they had learned about the true _Sayuri_ from coming to light. None of the teenagers would be spared his wrath, not even Yusuke.

There was no mistaking it. Dealing with Madarame’s Palace was now a fight for their lives.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

That Friday, just over a month since he’d first arrived in Tokyo amidst suspicion and withering scorn, Akira learned he was now the top second-year student at Shujin Academy. He hardly noticed. He certainly couldn’t celebrate. His team secured a route to Madarame’s Treasure later that same day.

Given their experience with Kamoshida and the delay between stealing the former Olympian’s Treasure and his change of heart taking place, the two weeks they had before the end of Madarame’s exhibition were both a blessing and a curse. Without any way to know how or even if the elderly Madarame’s reaction would be different, the Phantom Thieves took no chances. The calling card was sent.

Yusuke’s addition to the group as Fox proved invaluable, not only in terms of manpower while exploring the Palace, but in stealing the Treasure as well. They would never have been able to pull off the heist without all five Phantom Thieves flawlessly playing their roles. No matter his eccentricities, the artist knew how to execute his part of a plan.

Even so, Akira was left exhausted. The day after they defeated Madarame’s Shadow, he barely made it through all his classes awake. He returned to Leblanc feeling like a walking corpse, and made a single decision. That evening, there were no texts to his friends. No part-time jobs or clinical trials. Not even a DVD on the player he’d bought from the secondhand shop. He simply slept.

To be ready for the next day, he wanted his rest.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

Refreshed and eager, Akira summoned his fellow thieves to the Shibuya accessway after school on Tuesday.

“I hope everyone enjoyed a day off. I know I did,” he said.

“I cannot deny it was a relief, given the events of the weekend,” Yusuke replied. “Madarame continues to remain abed, as I described earlier. He has canceled his appearances at the exhibition indefinitely, but has made no substantive moves regarding the threatened legal action, either.”

“It sounds a lot like what happened with Kamoshida,” said Ann. “He placed himself on suspension and practically vanished for two weeks.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji agreed. “Nothin’ we can do now but wait.”

“No,” said Akira. “Not quite.”

Ann blinked. “Oh!” she gasped. “That’s right. We haven’t even told Yusuke about the other Palace yet.”

“There is another such place you all are aware of?”

“One of our classmates at Shujin, a first-year named Sumire Yoshizawa, also has a Palace,” Akira explained. “We discovered it not long after Kamoshida’s, but we’ve been unable to make a lot of progress.”

“There’s a gate guarded by some seriously badass Shadows,” said Ryuji. “It’s closed, and we haven’t been able to find any way around, either.”

“I see. A cognitive barrier, like the one you told me about within sens—I mean, Madarame’s Palace? If you believe I might be of some help – fresh eyes, as it were – I would of course be happy to offer any assistance it is in my power to provide.”

“We all got stronger, fighting our way to Madarame,” Ann said, flexing an arm and smiling widely. “Who knows, with all five of us, maybe we can take on those guards now!”

“Yusuke, I know you haven’t officially joined us, so I don’t want you to feel as though you have no choice but to participate,” Akira said, turning to fix the artist with a serious stare. “The rest of us decided to try and help Yoshizawa-san, but you don’t have a stake in this particular fight. So if you don’t feel comfortable taking part, none of us will object. You haven’t had a chance to vote on this yet, after all.” There was a chorus of agreement from the rest of the team.

“The unanimous decision rule, yes? I thank you for your consideration, but in this case, I believe I will trust your judgement. If all of you believe this young woman is worth helping, then I willingly offer my assistance. Rest assured, if my outsider’s perspective offers any insight once we arrive, I will not hesitate to share it.”

“All right,” Akira said, nodding firmly. “If everyone’s ready, let’s head to Aoyama.”

“Sounds like a plan!” said Ann. “If nothing else, Yusuke will get to see what another Palace looks like. Trust me; this one has a totally different vibe.”

“Dude’ll probably want to stop and sketch that fountain thing,” Ryuji claimed, as they swiped their transit passes to access the Ginza Line. “Not much else to see, though.”

“You know, it’s been two full weeks since we actually went there,” Ann observed. “Who knows what might have changed in that time?”

“Maybe they trimmed all those bushes? Cut the grass?” Ryuji smirked. He noticed Akira frowning as they reached the platform, and his smile faded. “Ah… right. Sorry, man. I guess if any of that shit did get done, it woulda been that cognition that had to do it, huh?”

Yusuke blinked. “A cognitive being doing landscaping? How curious.”

“Err, well…” Ryuji scratched the back of his head. “More like we ran into a copy of Yoshizawa inside, but instead of runnin’ the place like Kamoshida or Madarame, she’s a basically a servant.”

They boarded the train to Aoyama when it arrived, and it was late enough in the afternoon that they were able to find a group of seats together and relatively private. Morgana popped his head out of Akira’s bag once they’d all sat down. “It’s just one of the problems we’ve run into inside,” the cat said. “We haven’t even met the ruler’s Shadow, only a cognitive version of her. It’s completely unlike any other Palace in that way, and we’re not sure why yet.”

“You paint an intriguing picture, figuratively speaking,” Yusuke replied. “The ruler notwithstanding, what other kinds of Shadows have you encountered?”

Morgana shook his head. “Other than the guards at the gate? None at all. We may not find any until we get inside.”

“There are lots of cognitions, though,” Ann said.

“Are they at all similar to the paintings from Madarame’s Palace?”

“No, they’re all supposedly guests to some kind of party, real people walking around. Some teachers, but mostly students. There’s even copies of me and my best friend Shiho. Our outfits are kind of strange, and she’s in a wheelchair because she was hurt, but otherwise they’re almost normal.”

Their conversation faded when Yusuke had no further questions, and the train arrived at Aoyama-Itchome soon after. The group disembarked, guiding the Kosei student in their midst out of the station and towards the school. They reached the gates of Shujin, taking cover in their usual alcove before Akira activated the Meta-Nav.

They noticed a difference at once.

“Our clothes have changed,” Panther observed. The worry in her voice was plain.

“Is that not normal?” Fox wondered.

“No,” Joker replied, his voice tight with concern. “We haven’t been considered threats before.”

“There’s been a spike in the security level, too,” Mona said. “It’s not dangerous to move around, but something’s definitely put this place on alert.”

“Guys, look!” Skull called, waving them up to his spot a few steps further along the gravel path. “That gate, it’s open!”

Sure enough, the gates at the end of the road which guarded the entrance to the Palace were now swung inwards, revealing the path beyond. They could still see the Shadows at their posts on either side, but the cognitive barrier was no longer closed to them.

“Yoshizawa-san’s cognition must have changed,” said Panther, “but how?”

“We won’t find out standing here,” Joker declared. “Let’s go.” He started jogging, gesturing for the others to follow.

Follow they did. To Fox’s credit, he did not stop to sketch the fountain statue. As the thieves approached, they found they were not the only ones looking to take advantage of the open gates. A steady stream of cognitions were making their way inside, chattering excitedly as they strolled two by two in all their pseudo-Shujin finery. Only now, one and all, the cognitions were wearing masks.

The group reached the edge of the path that circled the Palace. Once again, the Shadows lowered their weapons to bar the way. “Halt!”

“No way, man!” Ryuji barked. “We’re invited, aren’t we? Y’said so yourself, last time we were here!”

The Shadow actually stopped to consider them. “Oh? The Lady Ann and her guest? Our apologies, of course the two of you may enter.”

“You bet your… Wait.” Skull boggled, caught wrong-footed. “That actually worked? I mean, of course! Let’s go, guys.”

“Ahem,” the second Shadow said. Their weapons still blocked the path. “You misunderstand. As you are, only the two of you are permitted. The ball has begun, as you can see. However, this is no mere public revel. Unscrupulous gentlemen and unchaperoned ladies are not permitted within. Only couples may enter, invitees and their designated guests. Together.”

“Hey, who are you callin’ unscrup—” Skull stopped himself. “Oh, right. Not me. Wait, are you callin’ _my friends_ here unscrupulous?”

“Damn,” muttered Joker. “I knew we had too much testosterone in this group.”

“This isn’t funny, Joker!” Panther snapped.

“It really kind of is.” He shrugged. “Besides, it just means we need to find some dates.”

“You make it sound simple,” Fox said doubtfully. “Did you have an idea? If you’re planning to invite me as your guest, I assure you I’m flattered, but—”

“No offense, Fox,” Joker interrupted, “but that wasn’t my plan. Even if they bought it, we’d still have an odd man out. I have a better idea. Follow me.”

He took the group towards the outer courtyard. Mona caught on at once. “Oh, I see! You’re going to see if any cognitions are still outside? Clever, Joker. Very clever.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “We’ll find out soon enough. Otherwise it’s Yusuke’s idea as plan B, and we try and hide you under my coat.”

There were still several cognitions scattered around the outer courtyard, though it wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been before the “ball” had begun. Joker spotted one likely pair idling near the refreshments, managing to hold in a sigh of relief. Approaching random cognitions with this plan would be unpredictable and tricky, but these two might at least give him an idea of whether or not his idea was even viable.

Shiho Suzui’s cognition looked up with a smile as they approached. “Well, if it isn’t Sir Thief. You’ve brought friends this time, I see.”

“Lady Shiho,” Joker said, offering her a gallant bow.

“Uh oh,” she replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Somebody wants something.”

“Indeed I do,” he replied brazenly. “I need a date.”

The cognition smiled at him cheerfully. “Nope!”

Joker came up short at that. “Oh. Err…”

She laughed. “Sorry, sorry. That was mean. But you earned it, I hope you know.”

He chuckled. “My comment before about meeting the right girl, huh? Well, I hope you don’t hold a grudge. You’re looking at some very desperate gentlemen, I’m sad to say.”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you before, though; we’ve already got dates. I’m Ann’s guest, and she’s mine,” she said, gesturing up at the cognitive Ann standing behind her wheelchair. But before Joker could begin to concoct a reply – or step on Skull’s foot to prevent him from making one of any kind – the cognitive Shiho smiled. “Buuuut… I _do_ remember what you said after your little gaffe, also. Flattery really will get you everywhere, Sir Thief. Ann and I are both invited guests anyway, so I suppose we can help you out.”

“There’s only two of us, though,” cognitive Ann pointed out. “And three of them need dates. Right?” 

“That just means we get to pick,” Shiho replied. She made quite a show of looking Joker over, cradling her chin thoughtfully as her eyes raked him up and down. “Hmmmm…” She beamed at him. And turned to Fox. “It looks like you’re my date!”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Very well, then. I’m in your care. You may call me Fox.”

“Another mysterious gentleman? I’m Shiho. Nice to meet you.” She turned to Ann. “Well, it’s your turn.”

Mona began practically jumping up and down. “Oh, oh, Lady Ann! Please! Pick—”

The cognition blinked at him. “I’m sorry, Sir Morgana, but how can I take a cat to a ball?”

He fell to his hands and knees. “But Lady Ann, I’m not…” he sighed. “Right. Yoshizawa’s cognition, to her I really am just a cat. Oh, blast it all. I just can’t win, can I?”

“I really have no idea how to feel about this entire conversation,” Panther muttered, one hand palming her mask as she shook her head.

Joker held up a hand. “Actually, I have to beg you for one more favor. You see, I don’t think we need you to choose… but I do need to ask you to give us some time.”

“Oh, you had someone in mind already?” Shiho asked.

“You did ask me to keep an eye out for hearts to steal.”

She smiled. “So I did. Well, if it was done on my advice, I can hardly hold it against you. Off you go, then. We’ll be enjoying the fresh air and food for a while; we’re in no hurry to go inside. It’s not like I’ll be cutting up the dance floor, after all,” she said, waving at her wheelchair and the blanket wrapped around her legs.

“Thank you,” Joker said. With one more bow, he led his team further on.

“Oho! I get it,” Skull said, as soon as they left the courtyard. He leered at Joker. “Got yourself a date already, huh?”

“Oh! So you—!” Panther gasped, and suddenly smiled. “Nevermind. None of my business.” Skull opened his mouth to comment further, and she promptly elbowed him in his side.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“I can read your mind.”

“No you— wait, can you? Uhh…”

Thankfully, Panther’s gloves would prevent her from leaving any palm prints on her mask. “Ryuji? Just shut up.”

Joker, for his part, remained studiously silent.

“So these are the servant’s quarters you described,” Fox said, once they reached the shack. “Madarame’s atelier was very much designed to exude an aura of impoverishment, but this is something else entirely. The misery emanating from within is almost palpable.”

Skull frowned. “Uh. Are you guys…?”

Mona shook his head. “No, it’s not just Fox. Something’s different.”

Joker’s eyes narrowed as he focused. Throughout their excursions in the Metaverse, he’d been getting better at seeing, for lack of a better term, what Mona typically referred to when he was sensing security levels. A faint, ambient pressure that rose and fell based on the progress of their infiltrations, which was typically consistent throughout a Palace. For some reason, he felt here the same telltale rise in tension, but it was specific to this location. “Let’s go. Carefully.”

As before, they made their way down the steps and through the tunnel by torchlight until they reached the locked door. Like their last visit, there was light emanating through the bars of the small window, but it was fainter than he remembered. Forcing away his hesitation, Joker stepped forward and turned the key to release the padlock. He pushed the door open, slowly. It creaked, the sound positively cacophonous in the utter silence that it broke.

The workroom looked like it had been struck by a typhoon.

Every table had been all but destroyed, their contents scattered in vaguely coherent piles of otherwise chaotic ruin. On the workbench that had been full of clothes, he could not see a single piece of intact fabric. Every bolt and skein and strip of lace was frayed or cut or torn. The table full of ledgers was piled with empty bindings, strewn with ripped scraps of paper blotted with ink. The wooden laundry basins had been rendered into kindling that sat in puddles of soapy water. The piles of pastries by the oven were nothing but smashed and scattered crumbs. Most of the oil lamps still hung from the wooden crossbeams of the rafters, but a few of those had been broken, too, casting the room in a slightly eerie, inconsistent glow.

As the Phantom Thieves took in the carnage, the silence was absolute. Or it was, at least, until Joker heard a muted cry from beside them, in the corner nearest the door.

Sumire’s cognition sat there, hugging herself around her legs. Her face was buried against her knees as her shoulders shook with muffled sobs.

Joker approached cautiously, and knelt an arm’s length away. For an instant, he had the impression he was missing an umbrella, and could feel rain soaking his hair. “Sumire?” he said, no louder than a whisper.

The girl sobbed harder. “Please, leave me alone.”

That was one request he wasn’t inclined to grant. “What happened here?” he asked.

“I took too long,” she said, almost to herself. “I should have known. All that time, all that work, and all for nothing. Why did I even try? I knew I wasn’t good enough. I knew I’d be too late.”

“Too late? You mean for the ball?”

She did not lift her head, but the kerchief she wore moved in a single, jerky nod. “I wasn’t wanted. I wasn’t needed. And none of it even mattered, in the end.”

“That’s not true,” Joker said.

She finally looked up. Tears had left fresh tracks of pale, white skin through the soot that stained her cheeks. Around her red eyes, the skin was redder still. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Why?”

“Why should I lie? I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You think that matters?” she said, her voice utterly consumed with despair. “Please, just leave me be.”

He considered her for a long moment. “I want to know one thing, first.”

She hid her face again, but he waited there in silence. “What?” she asked, at last.

“Did you do this, or someone else? And why?”

“That’s two things,” she mumbled.

The comment could have been interpreted as childish, but Joker felt it was more akin to her not being able to let him get away with thinking he was cleverer than he truly was. _But you delivered it so well_ , the real Sumire had said to him, once, putting him in his place when he thought he was being suave. Joker couldn’t keep a flicker of amusement from passing over his face. “Sorry.” He didn’t move away.

The silence stretched for what felt like minutes, his question hanging in the air between them. “I did it,” she said at last.

Another long pause. “And why?”

“It was useless. It’s too late.” She shook her head. “I thought I could do something _useful_ , if I just tried hard enough. But in the end, I couldn’t even do that.”

“What do you mean, useful?”

She hugged herself more tightly. “Please.” Her shoulders shook with fresh sobs. “Go away.”

Joker kept his face impassive, while inside he felt as though he was being torn in two. He felt for this girl, truly and deeply, and wanted to help her more than he could rationally explain. But at the same time, he had to remind himself that he was not looking at the real thing. At best, it was a distorted self-portrait, a copy of a copy filtered through the Palace’s lens. He was looking at a hint, a glimmer of insight into a flesh-and-blood young woman who was hurting, but not the young woman herself.

Hardening his resolve, Joker stood. And paused. Set into the wall above the cognition’s head was a small door, no more than a single meter square. It looked almost like a cabinet, except for the metallic lever set into the wall beside it. With one last glance at the crying form at his feet, he turned on his heel and left.

The others were quiet. No one spoke until Joker closed the door. “New plan,” he said flatly.

“Sorry, man,” Skull said.

Joker shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. She’s a cognition, not the real thing. I’m sorry if that sounds cold. I’m worried, but I’m worried about the _real_ Yoshizawa, and what we can do to help.”

“What’s the plan, Joker?” Mona asked.

He jerked his thumb at the door behind him. “I found a ticket in.”

They all looked at him. Fox’s head tilted questioningly. “But…”

“I’m not talking about the cognition. There’s a dumbwaiter in that room.”

“Uhh…” Skull said blankly. “A dumb-what?”

“A dumbwaiter,” Panther explained. “It’s like a mini-elevator they used in fancy old houses, so servants could move stuff directly from kitchens to dining rooms without the bigwigs having to see them.”

“If I read the labels right, it leads all the way up to the main level of the Palace.” He looked at the smallest member of the Phantom Thieves. “Sorry Mona, you’re the only one who’ll fit. You’ll infiltrate that way. I’m afraid Ann’s cognition will be my date.”

The cat sighed. “Oh, well. I guess it can’t be helped.”

“I know it’s a risk, but of all of us, you’re the best-suited for stealth. You’ll need to stay hidden until the rest of us can get inside and find out where it leads. If worse comes to worst, don’t hesitate to use an escape item. We should be able to come and go freely, but you’ll technically be crashing the party. You’ll be at the greatest risk.”

“Leave it to me, Joker. I am the most experienced of us all at infiltration, as you know.”

He nodded to each of the thieves in turn. “All right, we have our way in. Let’s start looking for some answers.”


	6. Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... I blew myself up. Or, to be more precise, I wrote myself into the kind of editing snafu you'll get from publishing a work-in-progress. Mark Watney charred his eyebrows trying to make it rain on Mars. This story is somewhat less ambitious, but I liked that line, so I'm sticking with it.
> 
> What you're reading here as chapter six was, in a perfect world, meant to be the last scene of chapter five. Rather than try to figure out how to accomplish that sleight of hand without confusing anyone reading this as it's being posted, I've decided to publish this as its own chapter, albeit with the previous chapter's title purloined for purposes of thematic relevance. (Chapter five has a new title but is otherwise unchanged.)

“You appear to be missing someone,” cognitive Shiho observed upon the Phantom Thieves’ return to the outer courtyard, minus Mona.

“Things worked out, just not quite the way we had anticipated,” Joker said by way of explanation. He turned to the second cognition, and bowed with a theatrical flourish. “Lady Ann, I would be honored if you would accompany me to the ball.” She blushed and giggled in a way that prompted the real Ann to roll her eyes.

“Take it easy, Joker. I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Panther teased.

“Of course. I put the gentleman in gentleman thief.”

“You sure lay it on thick, Sir Thief,” Shiho said, smiling. “Good thing you just need us to get in the door; you’d be a terrible influence on Ann if we had to spend much time together.”

“Hey!” Ann protested.

“True,” Panther observed at the same time. The two blinked at one another.

Unsure of how the cognition would react if she realized the true identity of the red-clad thief in front of her, Joker pressed on. Ann and the cognitive princess of Kamoshida’s Palace had been able to coexist – briefly – but considering the differences within this Palace, he didn’t want to risk dividing by zero before they’d even had a chance to implement their plan. Time was of the essence, as well, since Mona was already waiting inside.

“I suppose we’ll just have to be grateful for what we can get,” he said. “Well, Fox? Don’t just stand there. Your date is ready for you to walk her in.”

“Don’t get any ideas just because I let you push me around,” Shiho said, winking at Fox as he stepped behind her wheelchair.

“I assure you, Lady Shiho, I’m no pushover myself.”

“Oh, we’re going to get along just fine, I can tell.”

Joker offered the crook of his arm to Ann as they followed Fox and Shiho, who appeared to have launched an impromptu battle of puns. Panther and Skull came last; when he tried to emulate Joker and offer her his arm, she merely smiled and punched him in the shoulder. Skull grinned in return. He seemed to find the rejection just as funny as he had the attempt.

The two cognitions produced masks much like they had seen the other cognitive couples wearing. They donned them as they approached the gate. The Shadows there let them pass without challenge or comment, and at long last they were inside.

Beyond the gate was a wide stairway running up the slope of a forested hillside. They made their way to the crest of the hill, where the trees to either side cleared to reveal a large plateau of open, level ground. Smooth squares of granite were laid between twin lines of tall lampposts to form a path, which led straight to the front door of a massive mansion. Four stories tall at least, if the countless windows set into the building’s stone façade were any indication, it grew more and more imposing as they approached. A pair of wooden double doors, gleaming with fresh polish, stood open to receive the scattered line of cognitions strolling through.

“I think this is where we leave you, ladies, with our thanks,” Joker said. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your reputations by being seen with a group of unscrupulous thieves, after all.”

“I suppose so,” Shiho replied, as the cognitive Ann took Fox’s place behind her wheelchair. “Good luck, Sir Thief. I’m sure we’ll see each other around inside.” With a final wave, their two cognitive accomplices proceeded on without them.

“Our first priority is to find Mona,” Joker said, as soon as the cognitions were out of earshot. “Until we have an idea of the layout, we’ll stick together. We’ll search room by room if we—”

“No need for that, Joker.”

As one, the group turned to the doorway. Mona was standing there.

“For real?!” Skull gasped. “How the hell did ya get here so fast?”

“There’s no need to stand around drawing attention to ourselves,” Mona replied. He ushered them inside. “Follow me.”

“How did you find us so quickly?” Joker asked, as soon as they were indoors. The first room was a gigantic foyer, welcoming guests with marble pillars and floors so clean they were shining. A set of four chandeliers, flickering with the light of hundreds of gas-fed lamps, hung high above them. The group moved as one into a corner to talk, well away from any loitering cognitions.

“I’m just that good… is what I’d like to say,” Mona replied. “But the truth is, there’s not as much to this place as I expected.”

“What do you mean?” Panther asked. “The Palace looks gigantic from the outside.”

“Oh, it’s _big_ , don’t get me wrong. But it’s practically empty. You’d expect a place like this to have all kinds of fancy decorations and furniture, but it’s just a blank slate, a bunch of huge hallways and empty rooms.”

“This is a far cry from Madarame’s Palace,” Fox observed. “What do you think it represents?”

“Maybe Yoshizawa just doesn’t spare much thought about most of the school?” Panther guessed. “From what we know, she doesn’t have many friends or attend any clubs.”

“You may be more right than you know, Panther.” Mona frowned. “And that kind of worries me. The distortion here is incredibly weak. I was able to find you guys so quickly because there are no Shadows. At all. The Palace itself is like one gigantic safe room.”

“That don’t make any effin’ sense.”

“Normally, you’d be right. Remember how crazy the distortions in Kamoshida’s Palace got, the closer we were to his Treasure?”

“I do,” Joker said, recalling the shifting maze of crumbling floors and collapsing stairwells they’d found while ascending the tower before the throne room. “You’re saying this is different?”

“Exactly. The distortion here is actually _weakening_ the deeper you go, and the cognition is all but falling apart in some places.” He crossed his arms, expression serious as he looked up at Joker. “With one exception. It’s this way.”

There we three exits from the foyer, one on each side of the square room. The steady stream of cognitions that had been arriving seemed to have tapered off, leaving them all but alone as Mona led them to the central exit, where a second set of double doors stood opposite those of the main entrance. Skull and Joker each took a door and pushed it open.

“This is where the distortion remains the strongest,” Mona said, stepping into the hallway beyond.

It was a picture gallery. Both walls were lined with portraits of varying sizes, stretching on as far as they could see. There was a variety of styles, ranging from ink paintings and splotchy watercolors all the way to what looked like framed photographs. But in spite of the sheer volume of artwork, there was only a single subject.

It was a girl with dark reddish-brown hair and a thin, athletic build. Her age in the pictures varied from childhood to teenager, where her resemblance to the Sumire Yoshizawa they knew was unmistakable. Apart from the hair, which was more russet than Sumire’s vivid auburn, and a prominent beauty mark beneath her left eye, the two were practically identical.

“It’s Kasumi,” Joker said.

“Yoshizawa-san’s sister?” Panther asked. “The one who died?”

He nodded.

“The fountain outside was one thing,” Skull said, his voice quiet. He was looking at a picture of Kasumi as a girl, young enough to be wearing boys’ clothes and a baseball cap, her shoulder-length ponytail pulled through the back. She stood in a batting cage, giving a thumbs-up. “But this? It’s like a huge memorial.”

“There’s so much here.” Panther’s voice was almost shaking with emotion. She ran her hand along the bottom edge of one portrait, which showed Kasumi as a young teen, her ponytail tied with a red ribbon. She was dressed in a yukata, waving and smiling at the viewer. “A lifetime of memories.”

“There is something more than just affection and nostalgia in these portraits,” Fox said. He was scrutinizing one frame with a critical eye, as if there were some hidden meaning behind the picture of a girl, dressed in a leotard with her hair in a tight bun, beaming with pride as she accepted a trophy. “Something deeper than even idolization. It feels almost like… envy.”

A half-formed thought twitched at the edge of Joker’s consciousness. He tried to chase it, but it fled, like a gnat spotted across the room from the corner of his eye.

“That’s not too strange though, is it?” Panther wondered. “I mean, none of us has siblings, but normal brothers and sisters can be competitive. Even jealous, maybe?”

“Yeah. But coaches can be strict without becoming Kamoshida,” Morgana pointed out. “And artists can be vain without becoming Madarame.”

“Not like that matters now, though, right?” Skull asked. “I mean, maybe Yoshizawa was jealous before, but her sister freakin’ died. Joker said she was still broken up about it back in April. Nothin’ about that sounds strange to me.”

“We’re standing in the proof that _something_ strange is going on, and this place is where the distortion is strongest,” Mona argued.

Joker couldn’t shake the feeling that he was close to realizing something important, even as looking through the gallery was leaving him increasingly unsettled. “What’s beyond this hallway, Mona?”

“The ballroom,” he replied. “And while this place may be the center of distortion, that one is stranger by far.”

“How so?”

Mona shook his head. “It’ll be easier to show you. Come on.”

The hallway continued for what felt like forever, the portraits to either side becoming indistinct blurs that blended into one another as they ran past. At last they reached another set of closed double doors, larger and more ornate than even those at the entrance. They pushed their way through.

The foyer where they had first arrived had been massive, but it was practically a closet compared to the ballroom. The doors opened onto a balcony that encircled the entire space. Along the edge of the balcony, a balustrade of waist-high stone pillars supported a railing, broken only where it curved smoothly down along two pairs of staircases, one leading directly beneath them, and another on the far side of the circular room. Each pair of stairs turned inwards and met to form a small landing partway down, and then split again, curving outward once more and ending at the edges of the lowest level, the main concourse. That was where all the cognitions entering the Palace appeared to be gathering. They were crowded against the walls along the outside edge, tightly packed as though they were trying to avoid the center of the room. The space they left open was a round dance floor, its surface an intricate mosaic of the Shujin Academy emblem, formed by countless small interlocking tiles of smooth stone.

“The party’s started, but it don’t look like anyone’s dancin’,” Skull observed.

For a dizzying instant, the distortion flickered. As had happened several times in Kamoshida’s Palace, they caught a glimpse of where this space corresponded to in reality. It was the school gym; they stood near the entrance, opposite the stage where speakers addressed the students during assemblies. The disorienting double-vision faded.

“So this is the gym?” Panther wondered. “I guess if you’re going to have a school dance, that’s the logical place.”

A hint of motion and light drew Joker’s gaze upwards. While the balcony they were standing on was the highest point of the room by the entrance, there appeared to be an additional level on the opposite side, like the stage of the gym in reality. “Mona, what’s over there?” he asked, pointing.

“The strangest part of this whole place. I’ll show you; you all need to see it to believe it.”

They ran around the balcony. Directly opposite the entrance, they discovered an alcove. It was half-hidden, the edges disguised by a set of curtains which from a distance had looked like tapestries hanging against an even surface. The deception appeared to be intentional, as they found a new pair of spiral stairwells there, hidden behind the ballroom’s outer wall.

Mona led them upwards. They emerged in the back corner of a small, private balcony. It had a commanding view of the entire room beneath them, like the royal box of an opera house. In the center of the space, slowly swirling in midair, there was the faintest glimmer of light.

“Is that…” Fox breathed.

“What the eff? Is that the Treasure?”

It was no more distinct than the heat haze from sunbaked pavement, a far cry from the prominent, glowing singularities that Kamoshida and Madarame’s Treasures had been prior to their manifestation.

“Mona?” Joker prompted.

“Yes, it’s what it looks like. Or, more accurately, I think it used to be.”

Panther blinked. “What do you mean, ‘used to be’? The Palace is here, how can there _not_ be a Treasure?”

“Palaces are formed by distorted desires. Those desires take shape around some kind of representative object – Kamoshida’s medal, Madarame’s stolen _Sayuri_ – which then becomes a Treasure. But it’s different here, somehow, like how the distortion is actually getting weaker.” Mona shook his head, grimacing. “It feels all backwards, like the Palace itself is being unmade from the inside out.”

“So… what do we do?” Panther asked. “I mean, I guess we’ve secured a route. Do we send Yoshizawa-san a calling card?”

“The sense I have of the Treasure is incredibly weak,” Mona replied. “I can’t be sure giving her a calling card would even work, at this point.”

“What the hell, man? You’re supposed to be the expert, aren’t ya?”

Mona growled, stomping in frustration. “I don’t know, okay? This doesn’t make any more sense to me than it does to you guys! I can only tell you how it _feels_.”

Joker turned, cradling his chin in contemplation. He froze, staring at the back wall of the balcony. “Mona, is that what I think it is?”

He followed Joker’s gaze, and nodded. “Yeah.” They were looking at the upper exit of the dumbwaiter, which Mona had used to infiltrate the Palace from the servant’s quarters far below. “And let me tell you, that was the strangest part of this whole thing. If I hadn’t known I needed to find you all, I’d probably still be standing here in shock.”

Outwardly, Joker remained calm. But inside, his mind was racing.

Fox was frowning. “Why would there be a direct path from the servant’s quarters, which were unguarded and locked _from the outside_ , to the Treasure?”

“Sure as hell would have made for an easy heist if we’d known sooner,” Skull muttered.

“Are you blaming me for this?!” Mona yowled. “How would that have even worked? I’m the only one small enough to fit in that thing!”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t have had to wait for the goddamn gates to open! And maybe the Treasure wouldn’t have bugged out on us if we’d gotten here quicker!”

“We don’t know that, Skull,” Panther said reasonably. “This isn’t Mona’s fault. None of us saw the elevator before today. For all we know, it wasn’t even there until Yoshizawa-san’s cognition changed.”

“It was there,” Joker said, half to himself.

“See?!” Skull crowed. “Even Joker agrees with me!”

“No,” Joker said, cutting his friend off with a hard look. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Uhh… okay, man. Then what…?”

“I’m saying I think I know the nature of Yoshizawa-san’s distortion.” This had been the missing piece, the last clue he’d needed to figure out the puzzle that was the Palace of Sumire Yoshizawa.

“I must admit, even my limited exposure to this place has been most confounding,” Fox admitted. “I would very much like to hear your theory.”

“We’re all ears, Joker,” Mona seconded, pointedly turning his back to Skull.

“I could be wrong, but I think it all fits,” he began, gathering his thoughts. “Yoshizawa-san lost her sister two months ago, probably not long before this Palace formed. She exists here only as a cognition, outside her own Palace. She was working incredibly hard to prepare something for the ball that was to take place, at some point, inside. Then, inside, we find an idealized representation of her sister’s life story, and not a hint of the supposed Palace ruler’s existence. And now, we discover a direct, unguarded path between the servant’s quarters, representing the source of whatever Yoshizawa-san was working so hard on, and the focal point of her distorted desire, the Treasure.”

Joker paused, looking to each of his teammates in turn. “I think Sumire Yoshizawa’s distorted desire is to become her sister, Kasumi Yoshizawa.”

Panther was the first to speak. “It… it makes sense, in a sad sort of way. You think she felt the best way to mourn her sister… was to take her place?”

“That’s…” Skull trailed off. “Hell, man, I don’t even know. I don’t even wanna think about losin’ someone that important to me. But to give yourself up to fix it? How’s that make it any better?”

“It doesn’t have to make logical sense,” Joker pointed out. “It is a _distorted_ desire, after all.”

“But then why did the cognition wreck everything she’d been working on?” Panther wondered. “And does that have anything to do with what’s happened to the Treasure?”

By way of answer, Joker looked to their expert. “Mona, is it possible for Palaces to disappear naturally? Without a change of heart like what we’ve been doing, or the owner dying, I mean.”

He blinked. “Well… I can’t think of a reason why not. People can change, obviously, or Palaces wouldn’t form in the first place. The reverse has to be true, as well.”

“Wait, so… You’re saying Yoshizawa fixed herself? That’s why this place is all weird ‘n shit?”

Mona shook his head. “I don’t think so. The Treasure is weak, but it’s still _there_.”

“Maybe she just needs a little more help?” Panther wondered. “Stealing her Treasure, knowing what we do now, seems almost… cruel. I can’t say I’d mind if we could change her heart the rest of the way by just talking to her in reality.”

“Maybe?” Mona said, doubtfully. “But even if the distortions are getting weaker, the Palace doesn’t feel like one that’s about to collapse. _That_ I would recognize, for sure. The more I think about it, the more it feels like the distortion of her Palace isn’t vanishing, so much as it’s… changing.”

“You think a new desire is forming,” Joker said. It wasn’t a question.

“If I had to bet on it? Yeah.”

“Wantin’ to be her dead sister’s bad enough,” Skull said. “Do we really want to wait ‘n see if it gets worse?”

“If a calling card is potentially ineffective, as Mona hypothesized earlier, do we really have a choice?” Fox asked.

“In the Metaverse, no. Mona’s told us repeatedly that calling cards are one-offs. We can’t risk a dud, especially if it might hinder a change of heart once the new distortion takes shape,” Joker replied. “But under the circumstances, we can’t just leave things be indefinitely, either. Panther made a good point, before. Maybe we can help Yoshizawa-san in reality.”

“That’s a great idea, man, but we ain’t exactly runnin’ into her on the way to school each day. And she did hightail it the last time she saw you, it don’t really matter why.”

“It sounds like you need to know some place she will be beforehand, apart from school,” Fox said. “She trains as a gymnast, you’ve said. Do you know where?”

Joker shook his head. “No clue. And she leaves school early, so we can’t follow her. I suppose Mona could, but that’d be risky on the subway.”

“Wait!” Panther exclaimed. “The park cleanup!”

“Huh? That shit they told us all about during homeroom this morning?” Skull’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah, of course! That means she’ll be there, too!”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Fox said, looking between them in confusion.

“Shujin is sending the students on an in-service day to pick up trash in Inokashira Park next Monday,” Panther explained. “It’s a publicity stunt, basically, but attendance is mandatory.”

“That sounds like the best shot we’re going to get,” said Mona.

“We don’t want to gang up on her, though,” said Panther. “Joker, you’re the only one of us she really knows. Are you up for this?”

“We don’t have a choice.” He frowned. “I hope she is,” he added, under his breath.

“Try not to scare her away this time, man,” Skull said, grinning. “My leg ain’t good enough to chase down a chick that fast.”

“I’ll do my best,” Joker deadpanned.

“I guess that’s all we can do for now,” said Mona. “Let’s head back.”

They sent the cat burglar down via the dumbwaiter and exited the Palace. Fortunately, the Shadows at the gate paid no mind to them _leaving_ unescorted, and they returned to the alley outside Shujin without incident. As the team was going their separate ways, Ryuji pulled Akira aside.

“Hey, man. We’re gonna have some time to kill until the cleanup thing, right?”

“Seems that way,” Akira said, a bit warily. Ryuji appeared antsy, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the station, where Ann and Yusuke were already well out of earshot. And Ryuji in a mischievous mood was often a hazard to those who found themselves nearby.

That fear proved prescient. “So, y’see, I found this flyer…” He pulled a single page advertisement from his pocket. It was colored with a nauseating amount of pink.

Akira failed to suppress a sigh. It felt like this was going to be a very, very long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, people didn't find this chapter unnaturally short and subscribers weren't confused seeing a new posting with a duplicate title, but I saw this as the least bad option available to me. This had to happen immediately after I first updated the story with a total chapter count and received a complimentary comment for my titling, didn't it? No one reading this in an indefinite, glorious future where the story is complete will care or think this note makes the least bit of sense, of course, but for now? I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Part of me desperately wanted to have the next chapter's content ready to publish today. (My brain hates me and thinks events from a fan-written adaptation to a game that take place on 5/30/16 are somehow better if they're published on 5/30/20, because reasons.) I suppose, in my own distorted cognition, this is a decent compromise.
> 
> As always, my everlasting gratitude to those who put up with my perfectionism (*cough* OCD *cough*) enough to read, send kudos, subscribe, bookmark, or leave comments.


	7. The Chimes at Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession to make: I am a phantom thief (of game dialogue).

Sumire put on her glasses. The lenses weren’t corrective, but at this point they were a mnemonic trigger, like a pattern followed to music in one of her routines. The weight of them gave her focus, the subtle glint of the plastic a constant reminder. When the glasses went on, her day began.

Her parents were both at work by the time she left for school. She opened the refrigerator to remove the bento she had prepared the night before, placing it inside her bag. Breakfast was a protein shake; Mondays were strawberry-flavored.

Or rather they would have been. She had let herself run out.

It could have been worse.

Sumire stared at the empty spot on the shelf. The cool air of the refrigerator washed over her calves. She stared. The door alarm began to beep, a shrill electronic reminder of the open door. She stared. Her vision blurred, and she blinked to clear it. She felt something on her cheek, and raised her hand to the sensation. She stared. Her fingertips were wet.

 _Oh. Right. I forgot._ The refrigerator door swung slowly shut. Sumire left without breakfast. It… didn’t matter now.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

She made it all the way to the gates of Shujin before she registered the utter lack of other students around. That was when she remembered there was a special event that day. It was early, so she still had time. She headed back to Aoyama-Itchome Station.

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

It was a little disorienting, following the path to the Keio-Inokashira Line inside Shibuya Station in the morning. Sumire was used to doing the exact opposite, as she had once already that day. The break in routine was distracting enough, in fact, that she managed to walk headlong into a man in the middle of the station square.

“Hm?” He turned towards her after the collision.

She registered a tan sweater buttoned halfway over a pink polo shirt before reflex demanded she bow in apology. The proper platitude came spilling forth almost without conscious thought. “I’m terribly sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“It’s no problem,” the man grunted. A breath, and then, “Hey, I recognize that uniform…” His voice perked up in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stand on end.

 _Oh, no. Why now?_ “Sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She raised her head, but as soon as she made to go around him, he shifted his weight. It was nothing dramatic, nothing that would draw attention, but she was a gymnast. She knew how people moved. And he was going to block her way.

“You go to Shujin, right? I heard things have been rough there lately, what with that violent incident,” he went on. The sympathy in his voice was so false it felt like oil against her skin.

Sumire wished she’d been paying better attention to where she was walking. She wished she hadn’t had etiquette drilled into her very marrow, practically from the day she’d learned to talk. She wished politeness wasn’t such a habitual part of her daily façade that she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“You wanna go talk about it somewhere?” he asked. The faint leer he wore sent a shiver down her spine. In one terrifying moment, she realized she was in actual danger from this man.

“Thank you for your concern. However, I really am in a hurry, so if you’d excuse me…” Sumire bowed, quickly, happy to use the gesture as an excuse to take a step back. She had to get away. She did at least manage to try.

Quick as a snake, he grabbed her by the wrist, tight enough to hurt. He yanked her backwards. Sumire gasped with pain as she felt her right shoulder wrench.

A fifteen-year-old girl, athlete or not, was not difficult for a grown man to keep in his grasp. The man’s smile said he was well aware of that. “C’mon, there’s no need to be shy,” he said, all false cheer.

The human eye was naturally drawn to motion. As such, a few bystanders had turned to look when he’d grabbed her. “Like… I said…” she managed to grit out, before wincing as his hold on her wrist tightened.

“If you’re busy, I’ll put my number in your phone so you can call me later.” He leaned in close, forcing Sumire to bend back awkwardly to avoid him. Even so, she could see the color of the teeth behind the man’s fake smile, and the thin layer of dark stubble around his lips. “Sound like a plan?”

“Stop it…” she begged, casting her gaze about in desperation. Of the few souls in the crowd that had been given pause by the commotion, all looked away when her silent plea fell upon them. Not a single one would meet her eyes.

And then she saw red. Not in anger, but quite literally: a Shujin Academy tracksuit. Sumire gasped, this time in surprise instead of pain.

The man restraining her noticed that. He turned to face whoever had deigned to interfere. “What do you want?” he sneered.

Akira Kurusu stared back at him. “You’re hurting her.” The tone of his voice sent a fresh shiver straight through Sumire. It wasn’t fear, but something else. Her mind was blank; she had no word to name it. Behind his glasses, Kurusu-senpai’s grey eyes were two storm clouds, glimpsed on the horizon before even thunder could be heard.

The man noticed that, too. He released her to face the sudden threat.

Sumire’s right hand was numb and shaking as she rubbed her throbbing wrist, but even through the haze of pain and fear, she noticed when Kurusu-senpai shifted his weight. It was nothing dramatic, nothing that would draw attention, but she was a gymnast. She knew how people moved. He would hurt this man, if he had to. And he knew he could.

The man noticed _that_ , too. His posture deflated, slouching and stepping backwards, a scavenger submitting before the display of a much, much bigger threat. “Don’t get worked up,” he scoffed. “I’m just being friendly here.”

Kurusu-senpai relaxed, almost imperceptibly, and smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but even then it was familiar enough that Sumire practically jumped behind him. Both her hands grabbed fistfuls of windbreaker, and she buried her face against his back. She let out a shaky breath against the thin fabric. She felt relieved. She felt _safe_.

“What the... What’re you getting so jumpy about?” the man blustered. “Like you’re anything special!”

“You know, if you’re so interested, I go to Shujin, too.” She could hear the smirk in Kurusu-senpai’s voice, even with her face pressed so hard against him that she could feel the words vibrating through the back of his chest.

The man muttered something unintelligible and stormed off.

She couldn’t see it, but she felt when Kurusu-senpai turned his head towards her. She took a single, unsteady breath. “I’m sorry. Give me a few seconds. Please.”

She felt his nod, and the soft rumble of his chest as he made a wordless sound of assent. It was oddly comforting; almost like the feeling of petting a purring cat.

Before their pose went on long enough to draw a whole new round of stares from the crowd, Sumire took a step back. Once she’d released him, he turned to face her. His smile was small, but there was nothing false about it, and there was only kindness to be found in his grey eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, managing a passably stable bow. “I’m ashamed to admit I was terrified. Cowering in fear, as if I were in danger in the middle of a public square.”

His brow furrowed. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” she asked. She looked at him quizzically.

“Like your feelings are somehow less legitimate just because they’re yours. They’re not.”

Sumire blinked. Something about the words, or perhaps the way he said them, made her heart skip a beat.

“Sorry,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “I don’t mean to say it was good that you were afraid. But if you were, no one should fault you for it. That guy was a slimy creep.”

Apparently she was still burning off adrenaline, if her heart rate was any indication. “Um… May I ask you something?” She went on at his nod. “What made you step in to help me?”

It was his turn to be caught wrong-footed, she could tell, though he recovered quickly. “I suppose… I couldn’t look the other way. Maybe it’s just a habit.”

That wasn’t quite the answer she’d been expecting. “I… see,” she managed. “I apologize for asking something so strange.”

“I don’t mind. And don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I just said.” Kurusu-senpai’s smile returned.

Sumire realized that she liked it when he smiled. She tried not to react visibly when that thought struck her. Bad enough he’d seen her rendered helpless when held by a single wrist; he didn’t need to think she was some kind of lackwit, floundering at a conversation as soon as it was more than two sentences long. “I haven’t,” she assured him. She smiled a little to herself, knowing she could use his own words as explanation. “Maybe it’s just a habit.”

“Touché.” He gave her a jaunty little salute. “If you don’t mind my saying, you seem better.”

She tensed. “I’m sorry?”

He tugged absently at one of his bangs. “The last time I saw you, you kind of… ran off.”

She covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh. I… an apology hardly seems sufficient for that.” She still had no excuse for her reaction that day, let alone an explanation she could share. It seemed almost silly, in hindsight. She’d meant to apologize, but then after a while, there didn’t seem to be much point. Soon it wouldn’t matter, but now, here he was.

Sumire tried to keep her thoughts hidden, but his gaze grew concerned. “You don’t need to apologize for that, remember? But if you’d like to talk about it, I’d be willing to listen.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He looked at her. Really _looked_ , in a manner that was far more than just politely attentive. It didn’t make her feel uncomfortable, like the leer of the creep from earlier, or at least not at all in the same way. “I think it does matter,” he said.

She blinked. Before she could even begin to muster a reply, the intensity of his gaze softened, at least enough to allow her to breathe again.

“Or maybe I’m wrong. I could just be that terrifying,” he joked, his smile letting her know he was just kidding. “Ann and Ryuji don’t think so, but they’ve been wrong before.”

“No, not at all!” she exclaimed. Even if he was joking, she would not stand to let him believe that of himself.

“Well, that’s a relief. I think my reputation at school is already bad enough.”

“I don’t care about that,” she said. “I’m hardly worth noticing, myself.” _I wasn’t the one they wanted. And I can’t ever be._ She shook off that thought. “But no matter what anyone says about you, you’ve been a friend to me.”

He actually seemed surprised by that. He was stunned just long enough for her worries to force themselves into voice. “I’m sorry, that was very presumptuous of me. I didn’t mean—”

“I’m glad,” he said, cutting her off. His smile was small, but somehow even more radiant than before.

Sumire felt the urge to smile back. Oh, dear. This day was not going at all according to plan.

She had let her guard down. Overwhelmed by emotion, first fear and then relief, she had gone and done the last thing she should have wanted. She wasn’t blind. Kurusu-senpai was handsome, no matter his reputation. But this was a complication she absolutely did not need. She had her routine down; all she had to do was follow the steps. It was what she was supposed to be good at, and yet she was blowing it all over again.

None of that was his fault, though. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with the problems of some cheap imitation of a girl. No matter what, it wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Well, it’s the least I can do to thank you for your assistance earlier,” she said. She tried to smile, but the expression felt as brittle as crumbling ashes. “But I think I’ve taken enough of your time. You’re headed to the park for the cleanup as well, right?”

“I am. Will I see you there?”

Sumire managed a nod. “Yes. I was just on my way there when…” she trailed off, a nagging thought breaking into her awareness. She glanced down, taking in her uniform. “Oh, no.” She suddenly remembered why, apart from sheer habit, she had needed to go to school first thing today.

“What is it?” Kurusu-senpai asked. His expression was worried anew.

“I’m so sorry. I left my gym clothes at school on Saturday. I need to hurry back to pick them up so I can change!” She offered a hasty bow and ran off towards the Ginza Line.

She had been so close. Why today, of all days, did her comfortable routine have to fall to pieces? For a little while, she had managed. She had thought that would be enough. She was broken. Backwards. A performer, like her coach had said. The best she could do, the best she would ever be able to do, was following the steps. And she couldn’t even do that. Here she was, scrambling and struggling to stick to the simplest of scripts. She wasn’t even a performer. She was a pretender. It would never be enough.

Luckily, it wouldn’t need to be. Not for long, at least.

\- - **_Take Your Time_ -** -

Akira arrived at Inokashira Park, his head filled to the brim with conflicting feelings that had nothing to do with the presence of Shujin’s student body as a conscripted cleanup crew. His unexpected encounter with Yoshizawa-san had been exhilarating, reassuring, and worrying, often all at once.

Given his past experience, he probably should have thought twice about getting involved with what he’d come upon, but instead when he’d seen her in danger he hadn’t hesitated to step in. He’d gotten lucky, but didn’t regret it. Arsène approved of that.

He spotted two heads of blonde hair and made his way over to them.

“Yo,” Ryuji called. “What took ya so long?”

“Did you really come here from home in your gym clothes?” wondered Ann.

“I did.”

“It must be so nice to be a guy…”

“You can say that again,” Akira replied. He filled his friends in on why he had been late.

“Ugh. I can’t believe something like that happened right in the middle of Shibuya Square,” Ann said, visibly upset. “I’m glad you were able to help her out.”

“Way to go, dude!” Ryuji added, grinning.

Ann sighed. “…and I’m even gladder you seem to know how serious it was,” she muttered, rubbing two fingers against her temple.

“Eh? Whaddaya mean?”

“Nevermind. I need to go get into that line outside the bathroom, or I won’t have time to change.”

“I was wonderin’ if you were gonna do the event wearin’ that,” replied Ryuji. “Sounds like it sucks to be a girl.”

Morgana popped his head out of Akira’s bag. “That was the point of this entire conversation, you oaf.”

“What was that?”

“Quiet, both of you,” Akira hissed. “Looks like Mishima’s coming over for a chat.”

**_\- - Take Your Time_ -** -

“Good morning, Shujin Academy students and staff,” Niijima-senpai announced. The megaphone she held carried her voice clearly to all those assembled nearby. “Please pick up all trash located in the areas assigned to your group. Once the cleanup is completed, a lunch of miso soup with pork and vegetables will be served.”

Spending four hours picking up trash in Inokashira Park was, somehow, even more boring than it sounded. Pretending not to hear the comments of the three other students in his group was more tiring and repetitive than scanning the dirt for discarded wrappers, cups, and plastic to pick up with his tongs. At least it got a little better halfway through. By that time, the group had exhausted all the rumors about him, and the fact he hadn’t started stabbing them and hiding their bodies in the woods meant the novelty had worn off. At that point, they simply decided Akira was better off ignored.

For his part, Akira wholeheartedly agreed.

Noon arrived at long last, and Niijima-senpai took up her megaphone once more to announce the cleanup was over and lunch was served. It stung, if only a little, when his group’s silent treatment included forgetting his existence when the leaders were instructed to pick up food for the rest of their teams.

“After the soup’s doled out, everyone’s free to do whatever they want.” The third year in charge of Akira’s group had rather pointedly turned his back to address only the two girls that made up the rest of their team. “Including getting the hell outta here.”

Akira didn’t even try to follow them as they walked off. He collapsed onto the park bench where he’d stashed Morgana’s bag.

“I don’t know the best way to put it…” Morgana said, “but that sure was a crappy time out there.”

He merely grunted in response, letting his neck relax and his head fall back. He rolled it from side to side, trying to work out at least some of the stiffness from hours spent stooped over, bending up and down. There had been Metaverse excursions that left him feeling less sore.

“Are you okay, Senpai?” a hesitant voice asked.

His head snapped up so quickly he could almost hear the muscles strain. “Ow,” he managed. It was as much eloquence as the stars in his eyes allowed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” Yoshizawa-san exclaimed.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not your fault,” he said, trying to offer her a reassuring smile and blink his vision clear so he could actually see her to do so at the same time. “It’s my own fault. At least there are pretty colors. I even see some violet, Miss Honesty. How appropriate.”

“You get very sarcastic when you’re annoyed, you know. Was the cleanup event that bad?”

“Not at all. After the last few hours, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me. You know, ever again.”

“That bad, huh?” she replied softly. “My group was much the same, though for different reasons, I guess. ‘How nice of Miss Honor Student to get her hands dirty,’ etcetera.”

“Did you just use etcetera in a sentence?” Akira chuckled. He immediately winced and knuckled at the base of his skull, eyes pinched shut as he saw stars anew. “Oh, laughing was a bad idea.”

“You reference hanakotoba in one breath, and make fun of my vocabulary in the next?” she said. He could barely make out her face, but the laughter in her voice was plain. “And you wonder why no one likes you, Senpai.”

“Well, I work part-time at a flower shop in Shibuya,” he quipped wryly. “What’s your excuse?” And if she wasn’t going to call him on it, he wasn’t about to volunteer to her what _westerners_ thought violets meant. Even Morgana didn’t know why that handbook about flowers he’d picked up had actually made him blush.

“My mother is a lawyer and my father holds Master’s degrees in both English and Japanese,” she countered. Her voice shifted as she moved around the bench to stand behind him. “Stop slouching for a moment, please, Kurusu-senpai. Sit up as straight as you can.”

He did so. “What—” his voice froze in his throat at the feel of her fingers against his neck. In addition to the sore muscles there, now his throat was suddenly dry.

A light touch from one hand held his chin in place, while the other brushed against the bottom edge of the fine hairs at the base of his scalp. “Breathe out slowly, please,” she said.

He followed her instructions as though he were in a trance. At least until, with a deceptively short jerk, her hands shifted and his neck popped audibly.

“Ou… ch?” his pained gasp was autonomic, but trailed off before he could even finish the word. The effort of holding his own skull upright was no longer causing him pain, and his vision began to clear. “Oh. Wow. Thank you,” he said. He rolled his head gingerly, but there was not so much as a warning twinge.

Yoshizawa-san came back around to the front of the bench. She was wearing a red Shujin tracksuit, and like Akira had opted for the long pants instead of shorts. Though her windbreaker was zipped closed modestly, her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. “You’re very welcome,” she said. Her eyes were smiling, even if her mouth didn’t seem to want to follow suit.

“Articulate _and_ a part-time chiropractor? I’m just an amateur florist and barista; I may be outclassed, here.”

“My sister pulled a muscle in her neck training when we were in middle school. I picked up a few tricks that helped.”

He stretched his arms above his head. “Well, since we both seem to have been abandoned by our groups, would you like to eat together?” he asked.

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to where the crowd around the cooking station had only just begun to thin. “Well, I…”

Most of those left were female, Akira noted. With Dr. Maruki serving, he could guess just why that was. Even from here, he could see them all jockeying for position, often quite literally stepping on each other’s toes. No wonder Yoshizawa-san was reluctant to enter the fray. “You can wait here while I go stand in line,” he offered. “Please, I insist. It’s the least that I could do.”

“At this point you’re just trying to make it so I’ll feel bad for saying no.”

“Is it working?” he wondered.

“A bit,” she allowed. She took a seat on the other side of the bench and nodded primly. “Okay, then. I’ll keep Morgana-san company.”

The cat popped his head out of the bag, blinking in surprise. “You knew I was here?”

“You know she can’t understand what you say,” Akira chuckled. He picked up the bag and handed it to her. “It’s a deal. I’ll be back soon, assuming I survive.”

She nodded, already absorbed in scratching beneath Morgana’s chin.

Akira managed to make it to the miso pot and back with all his limbs intact. He received a few unkind mutters and even more withering gazes than he was accustomed to. They were abruptly put to rest, however, when Dr. Maruki greeted him like an old friend. The doctor chatted amiably with Akira, not even questioning when he asked for two bowls, engaging him almost as a colleague instead of a student with whom he’d spoken once or twice.

He managed to hold in his smirk until he was safely walking away.

“Akira, you have to keep this girl around,” Morgana said, as soon as he was in earshot. The cat’s eyes were closed in bliss. “I don’t care about the Palace. I don’t care if she wants to rule the world! Her chin scratches are the best!”

“He’s even more talkative today,” she commented, stopping just long enough to thank Akira and accept the offered bowl.

“I’m pretty sure he likes you more than he likes me,” Akira replied, taking his seat next to her on the bench.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement,” Morgana said loftily, once Yoshizawa-san had stopped scratching. He gave his head a brisk shake.

For a while, they ate. It could be called a comfortable silence, even though there was plenty of ambient noise. They could hear snippets of conversation from passing park goers, as well as the milling crowd of red-clad Shujin students nearby. There was birdsong from the tree branches, and wind whispering through the leaves. Even an occasional splash or quack from a paddling of ducks in the pond across the path.

“I wanted to thank you properly for what you did, earlier today,” Yoshizawa-san said, once they’d both finished their miso. “I truly appreciate what you did for me. That man was even more frightening than he might have appeared to you…”

Now well past the heat of the moment, Akira was more than a little relieved, himself. “Believe it or not, you’re giving me too much credit. For fearlessness, at least.”

“You’re just being modest, I’m sure.”

“That’d be the nicest word for it,” he said. “I’m not sorry I helped you, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t exactly go about it in the smartest way.”

“From my position, I don’t see how you could have done anything different.”

“He backed down quickly, that’s all I meant,” he explained. “I got lucky, in that sense; I haven’t always been.”

She looked at him quizzically. “You did mention something that stuck with me at the time. You said it was habit? I’m still not sure what you meant.”

He tugged at a lock of his bangs. “That’s… a long story.” Even as he said it, it struck him: among his friends in Tokyo, only Ryuji really knew. Even Morgana hadn’t been with them yet, that night in the beef bowl shop. Ann had learned a few details, but was circumspect enough not to pry. “I mean, you’ve gotten the gist of why I’m here.”

For a moment her brow furrowed in confusion, but she quickly caught his drift. “Oh. You mean that run-in outside of the guidance office?”

He nodded.

“Please give me some credit, Senpai. Even if I was inclined to give them any credence, the rumors about you are patently ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Burglary? Murder? Ivory smuggling? Even I know you don’t get probation for that.”

He chuckled. “I hadn’t heard that last one, yet.”

“I’ve been keeping track, if only for amusement at how over-the-top they’ll get,” she replied, tapping the side of her head. “Of course, what Kamoshida said about you wasn’t funny in the least. Even in the midst of his lecture about my future, I think what he said about you made me more angry at the time.”

Akira blinked.

“What?” she asked, after a moment. “Is that so surprising?”

“Sorry, it’s not that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you to refer to anyone without an honorific before, is all. Even my cat got a ‘–san.’”

“Not a cat,” Morgana corrected lazily, from his place between them on the bench.

Yoshizawa-san bit her bottom lip, looking at the ground. “What he did… Even just what he _admitted_ to doing, that day in the gym… That man doesn’t deserve respect. I think the Phantom Thieves were too kind.”

His brow furrowed. He had been paying attention already, but his focus sharpened further now. “How do you mean?”

“I think you know,” she said, glancing up.

Akira grew very still.

“Because of this morning, if nothing else. I didn’t have to tell you why I was so afraid of that man. You never even asked. You just believed me. You just knew.”

He allowed himself to breathe again. He nodded, slightly, once.

“Kamoshida was worse. He wasn’t just a bad person, a scavenger given an opportunity he didn’t pass up. He was a predator.”

Akira felt himself freeze all over again, but this time his fear was not for himself. “Did he ever…?”

She shook her head. “No. I was never worth anything more to him than patronizing false concern. But what he said about Kasumi?” Her eyes grew hard. “He talked about my sister as though her dying inconvenienced _him_. What he said… it made me angry. No, it made me furious. But now, looking back? I’m glad my sister never came to Shujin. She wouldn’t have been safe.

“And after all that, especially what he did to Suzui-senpai, he gets a change of heart? He just wakes up one morning and says ‘oh, I’m sorry now?’”

“He finally grew a conscience. Finally felt guilt for what he did. He even turned himself in to the police,” Akira said, gently. “Most people would call that justice.”

Her jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t. He grew a conscience, you say? Then he didn’t _learn_ anything! He didn’t struggle. He didn’t punish himself. How long did he get away with his crimes, without even caring that he did? Yes, he feels guilty _now_. Now he’s in jail, and that’s better than the alternative. But he was given the answer to a question he didn’t even know he needed to ask.”

For a long time, Akira considered that. Knowing what he did about the girl beside him, he didn’t like the implications of what he heard. Morgana glanced up at him. There were volumes of shared worries spoken in that single, silent look. At last, Akira spoke, and his words were meant for Morgana almost as much as a reply to Yoshizawa-san. “I’m not sure even the Phantom Thieves would be able to do anything about that.”

Yoshizawa-san’s smile held a bitterness that was alien to her kind face. Behind her glasses her red eyes were hard, two garnets framed in black. “I guess not. As I said, what they did was better than doing nothing, probably by quite a lot. But if people can’t even acknowledge their own problems, are they really better off? Or are they just accepting what others tell them at face value, feeling something because they’re told to, and not because they should?”

“You’re not wrong,” Akira concluded. “But I don’t think we can expect everyone to be so aware of their own flaws. No one really thinks they’re _evil_. Even Kamoshida, who knew what he was doing was wrong, thought he was at least _justified_.”

She looked up at him sharply. “How do you know that?” Her voice was more curious than accusing, but her focus was intense.

Akira cursed himself. It was Kamoshida’s Shadow that had admitted that, right before he surrendered, not the man himself. He scrambled for a plausible explanation, offering a protracted shrug to buy himself some time. “We had a conversation in the PE faculty office, after what happened with Suzui-san. That was when he decided to expel Ryuji, Mishima, and me. He… gloated a bit.” All true, in the strictest sense, if not actually as an answer to her question. “He talked about how he was just being rewarded for his success with the volleyball team.”

“That’s… logical, in a sickening sort of way.”

“Irrational and disgusting, too.”

“Indeed.” She smiled, but there was no real joy or humor in it. “I know how cutthroat competitive athletics can be, even at the high school level. There’s a reason my sister and I were both offered scholarships to Shujin, after all, even though only she was truly talented.”

It was unsettling, given what she’d said about Kamoshida’s change of heart, but Akira couldn’t pass up an opening like that. Unfortunately for him, pleasant conversation was not the sole purpose of his day. “You sound like you really admired her.”

Any trace of joy there was to be found on Yoshizawa-san’s face vanished at once. “How could I not?”

Akira could see her chewing the inside of her bottom lip, but forced himself to go on. “Tell me about her?”

He had hoped to inspire fond memories, but his question only seemed to make Yoshizawa-san even more unbearably sad. Her voice was dull and lifeless, as if answering a teacher’s inquiry by rote. “She was brilliant and talented… glamorous and funny… beautiful and kind. Everyone loved her. Teachers praised her perfect grades. Coaches loved her boldness as a gymnastics prodigy. Our parents… Everyone always wanted her around.”

“You make her sound perfect.”

“She wasn’t. Put her in the kitchen, and she could burn water; I always cooked our meals. If you annoyed her, she could be snarky… a bit like you, actually. And her boldness was her greatest strength in gymnastics, but elsewhere… she could be reckless to a fault.” She took a shaky breath. Sunlight glittered in the moisture gathering along her eyelashes, but through what seemed like sheer force of will, she didn’t let any tears fall. “She was everything I ever wanted to be.”

“Poor girl,” Morgana mewed. “No wonder you…” he trailed off; as soon as he made a sound, it reminded Yoshizawa-san of his presence, and she reached down to slowly stroke his head.

Akira was faced with two choices, and neither was ideal. He could press her on this issue, force her to acknowledge her desire in some way. Perhaps that would help the original distortion of her Palace re-manifest itself to a point the Phantom Thieves could affect. Or he could sympathize, help her move on from the loss of her sister. Healing that pain ran the risk of solidifying her new, unknown cognition, one that was potentially even worse.

There was no clever solution. No easy answer to be found. Either choice he made would change her, and in either case he feared he was already lost.

He loved her just as she was, but that was the cruelest choice of all.

Minutes felt like hours as Akira wandered within his own head. What choice could he possibly make for her? What gave him the right? Confronting Yoshizawa-san might let them steal her heart, but that was an outcome she had explicitly stated she despised. Consoling her was even worse: a roll of the dice which – at its best – ended in the exact same dilemma, a risk no matter the result. Even doing nothing was unconscionable, for that was to leave her distorted, grieving and in pain.

He tried to turn the tables, see things from her point of view. In his position, were it reversed, what would she want to do? Inaction was still anathema. Coddling would be torture by another name, protracted and self-serving, pointlessly unkind. In the end, it left one choice, and that a bitter medicine indeed. But to change her heart offered a single, slim hope, and it was the only light he could see.

“ _But if people can’t even acknowledge their own problems, are they really better off?_ ”

Yoshizawa-san’s own words. He couldn’t tell her she had a Palace, of course. And if the transformation of the distortion there was any indication, she had at least started to realize the problem on her own, even if it was only subconsciously. But that wasn’t what made up his mind. This was the only method that gave her any kind of choice. He wanted to steal her heart, not her agency. In the end, his choice was not to make the choice for her.

And as fate would have it, in the same moment he made his decision, he also found it made for him.

A child was wandering towards them, down the path the bench sat beside, a little girl holding onto a bright red balloon. Just as she passed, the string slipped out of her hand. The balloon began to float away.

Perhaps it was the lull in their conversation. It could have been the color, or the sudden motion, or even the child’s soft cry of dismay. Whatever the reason, Yoshizawa-san saw what had happened, and went into action before Akira could even blink. From her seat on the bench, she coiled her legs. She exploded upwards into a tremendous, soaring leap, her right hand just snagging the end of the rising string. She broke her fall with an effortless forward tumble, the balloon secure in her hand.

She stood and turned. Her free hand adjusted her glasses, even though they didn’t look askew. She stepped forward and crouched beside the child, offering her the balloon. “Here you go,” she said. “Don’t let go of things that are precious to you, okay?”

“Well, that was certainly impressive,” Morgana mused. “And she says she’s less talented than her sister was?”

Akira was fascinated himself, but something else caught his eye. With her sudden movement, something had fallen out of Yoshizawa-san’s pocket, and was now lying on the ground right next to the bench. He picked it up; it was a Shujin Academy student handbook. He lightly brushed a few specks of dirt off of the cover.

 _Kasumi Yoshizawa_ was written there.

The little girl had moved on, her treasure rescued. Sumire stood before him, wringing her hands. She couldn’t seem to decide where to look: at him, the book, or the ground.

He held it out to her. “Don’t let go of things that are precious to you.”

Yoshizawa-san accepted the book with hesitation, and cradled it against her chest. She opened and closed her mouth several times, as if unsure of how to respond. At last, she settled on “It was something Kasumi always said.”

He took a steadying breath. “You can’t be her.”

“You think I don’t know that!?” she snapped, at once both sad and defiant. Her gaze locked on his for a single, furious instant, eyes flashing with a fire he’d not seen in her before. But it was gone just as quickly, guttering out. Again she looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not like I don’t have other keepsakes. But that’s one of the only things that was truly hers alone. She picked out both our wardrobes, even decorated both our rooms. But the day after she… died, those came in the mail, along with our uniforms.”

“So you use it for sentimental reasons? It’s nothing to be ashamed of; I understand.”

She winced, pressing the fingers of one hand against her temple. “No… yes… Maybe? I don’t know.”

“You covered all the bases, there.”

She dug the heel of her palm against the side of her head, knocking her glasses askew. “I just… didn’t want to forget.”

“Forget your sister?”

“No! I never...” she shook her head. “I don’t need a monogrammed book for that. I needed…”

He kept his voice quiet and gentle. “What? What didn’t you want to forget?”

“Don’t let go of things that are precious to you,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to forget her dream.”

“Her dream?” Akira prompted. He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of his face, his elbows on his knees.

“To succeed as a gymnast on the international stage.”

“Impressive,” he replied. “What about you?”

“Me? I…” she grunted in pain. “I…” she shook her head fiercely. “I have to go!”

That took Akira aback. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Senpai, I… the school… I…” she seemed to grope for words, looking everywhere but at him. “I need to… find Niijima-senpai. Yes. I… left my clothes in my locker back at school. I have to make sure I can still get in to change.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry.” She bowed, the gesture so brisk it was hardly even perfunctory. “I need to go. Goodbye.”

Before he could stand, or muster any other response, she ran away.

Again.

_**\- - Take Your Time -** _-

Ann and Ryuji had stayed out of sight nearby, as had been agreed. A text in their group chat, however, and the four of them met up in short order.

“How’d it go, man?” Ryuji asked.

“Judging by your expression, not great,” Ann observed.

Akira shook his head.

“She ran off,” Morgana supplied.

“Again,” he added sourly.

“Damn, dude.”

“Akira…”

“No, don’t. This time it _was_ my fault. I was pressing her about her sister, trying to make her aware of her distortion on some level.”

“For what it’s worth, you were doing a great job,” Morgana said, trying to be comforting. “Judging by her reactions, _something_ was happening.”

That was what worried him. “We need to check the Palace. Find out what, if anything, has changed.”

“Makes sense, man. When’re you thinking we should go?”

Akira frowned, unable, or perhaps unwilling to hide the depth of his misgivings. “If possible, right away.”

The other three shared a look. “Are you sure?” Morgana asked.

“You know how I feel about improvisation.”

The cat frowned at that.

“Well, we’ve all got the rest of the day off now that the in-service is done, but Yusuke won’t be out of school for a couple hours,” Ann said.

His frown deepened. “I don’t think we can wait. I don’t know why, but… I think it would be a bad idea.”

“Are we gonna be able to get inside again?” Ryuji wondered. “Past the Shadows, I mean. What if there ain’t any cognitions left outside by now?”

“You and Ann are still set. Mona can use the dumbwaiter. Worse comes to worst, the three of you can find Shiho’s cognition and convince her to take pity on me.”

“That could take a while,” Ann cautioned. “If this is as urgent as you seem to think…”

“Either way, we need to know if Yoshizawa-san’s cognition changed, and there’s only one way to find out.” His frown turned into a full-blown grimace. “We’ve got no choice. Whether she’s ready or not, I guess it’s time to ask Cinderella to the ball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violets, in Japanese hanakotoba, mean honesty. In western flower language, they symbolize innocence, modesty, and true, everlasting love.


	8. Struggle, Magnificently

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, for those who mind such things: this chapter contains a reference to self-harm.

Akira was unspeakably grateful for the trust and faith his teammates put in his leadership. From the moment they left Inokashira Park, there were no nervous interrogations. No speaking glances behind his back. No concerned looks caught from the corner of his eye. Only focus and calm preparation, until they reached Shujin Academy. His team took him at his word, and was willing to follow where he led.

Ann brought out her phone as they stood before the school gates. There was no one nearby; to all appearances, they were the only students crazy enough to bother coming back to campus on the half-day. She called up the Meta-Nav and looked at him. “Are you sure about this, Joker?”

It wasn’t doubt that made her ask. If she had any serious reservations about their mission, she would have used his name, and would not hesitate to tell him what was bothering her. Akira knew that if their team had a conscience, it could find no better avatar than Ann Takamaki. But she was already in Panther’s mindset, committed to the mission. All she wanted to be sure of was that he was, too.

He nodded once. “It’s showtime.”

Reality twisted and fell away, and they entered Yoshizawa-san’s Palace.

“Security’s spiked again,” Mona said at once. “It’s no surprise she’d be a bit on edge.”

There were no other immediately obvious changes, apart from that vague tension in the air, but that fact didn’t hold true for long. “The fountain’s off,” Skull observed as they ran past. The flow of water from the statue’s baton had indeed fallen silent. Inside the surrounding pool, there were the beginnings of a greenish tinge upon the stones, and the faintest film on the surface of the stagnant water. “And do the bushes look a little different to you guys, too?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Panther confirmed. “They look like the gardener went on vacation for a week.” Just a little uneven, just a little overgrown, but still a noticeable departure from the formerly immaculate green hedge they’d seen before. The small changes persisted as they neared the gate. There were hints of grass appearing amidst the gravel path; shoots of creeping ivy beginning to climb the bars of the Palace wall; dead brown leaves drifting on a faint breeze.

“Yoshizawa-san’s cognition has definitely changed,” said Mona. “It’s hard to tell for sure, but the differences are probably more pronounced here, where the distortion was already growing weak. Inside the Palace, the changes may be even more subtle.”

The gates were still open, and the Shadows still at their posts outside. There were no cognitions in sight. “Panther, Skull, you two go ahead. Be careful, and keep an eye out for differences in the layout. We didn’t see any Shadows inside before, but if you see any now, retreat and come find us. Mona and I will head to the servant’s quarters.”

“Gotcha.” Skull nodded, pumping his fist.

“Good luck, Joker. We’ll meet you lovebirds inside.” Panther winked.

“You shouldn’t tease Mona like that,” he deadpanned. “He’s really not my type.”

Panther and Skull laughed all the way past the gate as the team split up.

“You’re just saying that because I like Yoshizawa-san better than you.”

“Of course not,” he protested as they ran. “I’m not nearly as proficient at neck scratches as she is. I’ll work on it. I can admit my weaknesses, you know.”

“Huh, she was right. You do get sarcastic when you’re annoyed. That girl’s perceptive when it comes to you.”

He had noticed. It was part of her appeal, though he wasn’t about to admit that aloud, let alone do so here. “Have you seen any cognitions?” he asked instead, as they ran through the empty outer courtyard.

“None. They may all be inside by now, like Skull said back at the park.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you admitted he was right about something.”

The cat burglar scoffed. “Stopped clocks, blind squirrels, monkeys and typewriters. Pick an idiom.”

They arrived at the entrance to the servant’s quarters. The area just outside the shack was becoming overgrown with weeds. The rickety outer door creaked as Joker pushed it aside. The old wood planks rattled loosely as it swung shut again behind them. For the first time, there was no fresh torch just inside. “Well, that’s inconvenient.” His focus narrowed, some of the darkness receding in the focus of his Third Eye.

“Want me to lead? I can still see okay. And it’s not because I’m a cat!”

“I’m fine. And I wasn’t going to say it.”

“I know. But Skull would have,” Mona shrugged, smiling a little. “I need to stay on my toes.”

They made their way gingerly through the darkness. Over time, their eyes adjusted to the lack of light, which made even the faint glow flickering between the bars of the cellar door stand out. Once they had reached it, even that was enough to see by. Joker took hold of the padlock. Even through his gloves, he could feel the texture of a few spots of rust, but the key still turned easily enough. With a final, steadying breath, he opened the door.

The room was much as they had last seen it, full of tables piled with ruined, abandoned work. A solitary oil lamp remained lit. It made it hard to tell if there were any differences, as there had been outside.

Joker froze. One obvious change stood out, even in the faint light. Some of the torn pieces of fabric and rags had been tied together and thrown over a rafter in the center of the room. The end was fashioned into an unmistakable loop that sent a numbing chill throughout his body. Beneath the ragged noose, there was a stool.

It lay on its side.

 _Cognitions don’t leave corpses_ , was his lone coherent thought. For a split-second, he allowed his mind to go utterly blank. Then, it was time to get to work.

In a moment of terrible, terrifying clarity, Joker realized that, as he’d suspected in reality, Yoshizawa-san no longer desired to become her sister. It was now frighteningly plain what her _new_ distorted desire was. And because of that, he knew he’d made a potentially fatal mistake.

“Is that…?” Mona gasped. “Oh, no.”

“I need to send you up to the ballroom _right now_. You have to warn the others.”

“Joker, if she… While we’re inside…” Mona was stammering, his voice growing desperate. “The Palace would collapse!”

“Into the dumbwaiter, Mona,” Joker commanded. His tone was icily composed. He vaulted over the three tables between him and the elevator door.

Half a step behind him, the cat scrambled inside. “I’ll warn them, Joker. But how are you going to get back inside now? What’re you going to do?”

“Improvise.”

Mona’s eyes widened, but any further reply was cut off. In a single motion, Joker pushed the door shut and threw the lever to send it up.

He ran out the door and through the tunnel, heedless of the darkness, trusting his Third Eye. When he reached the base of the stairs, he didn’t break stride. He jumped from one step to the next, spinning to add momentum as he threw his grappling hook. The instant he felt it catch, he activated the reeling mechanism with a cognitive flick of his wrist. Half-running, half-flying, he ascended the stairs at a pace where a single misstep would break his neck. The faint sheen of sunlight around the edges of the upper door came into view, approaching fast.

On sheer instinct, he shifted, turning in midair to lead with his shoulder at the same moment he detached the end of his grappling hook from where it had embedded itself at the base of the shack’s ceiling. On impact, the door exploded into splinters. Joker rolled. He planted his right boot, harnessing the force of his own inertia to both bring himself back to his feet and change directions ninety degrees.

He ran, faster than he’d ever run before. The recollection of fleeing Kamoshida’s collapsing Palace only spurred him on faster still.

Hurry. He had to hurry! _I won’t let it end like this. Please, please, don’t let me be too late._

Akira tumbled into reality at a dead sprint, uncaring if he was seen.

“ _I… left my clothes in my locker back at school. I have to make sure I can still get in to change_.”

He prayed to whatever gods might be willing to listen that she was still here. That it hadn’t just been a lie. Akira barreled through the front door of Shujin. Fortunately for him, it was unlocked. If it hadn’t been, he would probably have broken through the glass. He wasn’t in the Metaverse anymore; that kind of stunt would probably knock him out. It was too late to worry, now. He ran.

Rounding a corner, he discovered the school was not empty. He threw himself to the side, bouncing off the wall with enough force that he saw stars.

The figure he’d narrowly avoided gave a single, startled yelp. Wide crimson eyes stared at him from beneath bangs of short brown hair. It was Niijima-senpai.

“Is Yoshizawa here?” he barked, only just starting to dare to hope.

“Kurusu-kun?! What are you—”

“ _Is Yoshizawa here?!_ ” Akira demanded, propriety be damned. His voice held every fraction of intimidating delinquent he could muster, backed with every ounce of Joker’s will.

“The gym!” Niijima gasped. She blinked at him, expression stunned, as if she’d never seen him before. “She said she forgot her clothes and asked me to let her into the locker rooms. But— Hey! Kurusu-kun!”

Her voice faded behind him. He had what he needed, and was already running again.

Hallway, door, courtyard. He didn’t care if he was followed. Door, hallway, door. He knew where he needed to be.

He slammed into the gym doors hard enough to knock what was left of his breath away. They crashed open, the sharp sound echoing loudly in the cavernous space beyond.

And there she was.

He nearly fainted at the sudden rush of relief, but he forced himself forward at a jog.

Yoshizawa-san was at the far end of the gym, standing at the base of the stage. She had changed into her uniform; even from here, he could see that every crease and seam and button was picture-perfect. She had turned at the noise of his sudden entrance, but even in shock the posture of her slender body was immaculate. She gaped at him, blinking owlishly as he approached.

“You forgot your glasses,” he said.

Her hands flew to the sides of her face. Trembling fingers lingered for a moment where the black frames would have been. She lowered them, shielding one closed fist with her other hand, both held in front of her heart. “I don’t actually need them,” she replied.

He raised one hand slowly, and removed his own black frames. “Funny. Neither do I.”

She looked down, her lower lip trembling. “Why are you here?”

She wasn’t just avoiding his eyes; she was staring at her own closed fist. He could see the ends of a long, red ribbon clasped within. “I ran.” He shrugged. “I needed the exercise.”

“Don’t try to be charming,” she shot back, punctuated by a laugh that was half a sob. “Please. Don’t do this. You’re just making this harder for me.”

“Under the circumstances? That’s kind of the idea.”

“I’ve tried so hard, Senpai. So hard, for so long. Haven’t I performed enough already?” she asked. Her eyes screwed shut, the ends of her lashes glittering with tears. “This is all I have left. The only thing I can actually do.”

“What is?” he asked.

For a long moment, Yoshizawa-san didn’t say a word. She merely reached up, and with deft fingers, used the ribbon to tie up her hair. “This is who they wanted,” she said at last.

He had seen the portraits in her Palace. He did her the courtesy of not pretending to misunderstand. “Kasumi.”

She nodded. “I can’t be her. I’m just a useless pretender. This is the best I can do.”

Silence stretched. “And you were going to do it here? Tonight?”

She returned his courtesy in kind. “Yes.” The act of whispering that single word seemed to exhaust her. Her posture wilted. She leaned back against the side of the stage, as if too weary to stand alone.

He closed his eyes, and sighed. “You know, I told Morgana a while ago that improvisation hasn’t always ended well for me.”

That comment proved strange enough to prompt her to look up. Her head tilted quizzically, even as she blinked back tears. “Your cat?”

He nodded. “I really hope we’ll laugh about all this someday. Fair warning, he really likes your chin scratches, and I’m sure he’ll tell you so himself. But if you’ll accept one piece of advice, you should be careful not to let that go to his head.”

Her expression grew all the more confused. “Senpai, are you feeling all ri— eep!”

He stepped forward, trapping her against the stage between his outstretched arms. He leaned in, two grey eyes locking with a pair of wide, shocked red. She didn’t look away.

“Sumire Yoshizawa, your sin is self-doubt,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “With every thought you deny your own worth, and raise a false idol in your place. You are not your sister, and _you do not have to be! You_ are my friend. _You_ are brilliant and beautiful. _You_ are compassionate and kind. And I will use all my power to make you admit it with your own mouth.”

She stared at him, speechless.

“This is a message from the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.” He took advantage of her stunned silence, and gently slid his own glasses onto her face. He smiled. “Much better,” he whispered.

She gaped at him, mouth flexing like a landed fish. “I… You’re… But… Huh?” was all she managed. Her eloquence had fled, but Akira was pretty sure he could guess the gist.

He took half a step back. His smile was sheepish as he tugged at a lock of his bangs. “It’s a _really_ long story, but… I kind of need a date.”

For a second, she didn’t react. Then, ruby eyes went as wide as the frames of her borrowed glasses. Behind them, her entire face turned the exact same shade of vibrant red as her long, ponytailed hair. “W-w-w-wh-wha- _what!?_ ”

As Akira held her flabbergasted gaze, there was no restraining his smile as it morphed into Joker’s grin. Without looking, he held up his phone, and pushed a button.

“ _Beginning navigation_.”

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

When the world around her finished shifting, the first thing Sumire noticed was the unpleasant buzzing sensation that filled her head. That distraction was nothing, however, against the shock of falling through the air.

With a startled shriek, she instinctively latched onto the nearest solid object she could find, hiding her face and screwing her eyes shut against the rush of vertigo. She registered the feel of heavy fabric within her white-knuckled grip. When no immediate doom befell her, Sumire’s panic abated in fits and starts, allowing her other senses to slowly assert themselves. That was enough for her to feel her hair whipping about and a steady breeze against her exposed skin, as if she were braced against a strong spring wind. That same wind rushed past her ears, warring with the vaguely irritating buzz inside her head, and a softer, mechanical whir from somewhere nearby.

She became aware that while she was moving, it wasn’t the stomach-dropping sense of free-fall that she felt. That gave her just enough courage to slowly crack open a single eye. She saw black, and realized she had her face buried against something warm and soft, but which yielded only to a point. Turning her head a bit, she ignored the blur of motion in the corner of her eye in favor of a better look at what – or rather, who – she was holding onto.

A grey waistcoat with angled patterns between small, gold buttons, and a high neck beneath a masculine jaw. A white mask with black markings around the eyes, and a mop of dark hair. A long, black tailcoat flapped in the wind behind him. He held one arm aloft, and the whirring sound she’d heard was revealed to be an arresting wire which was reeling out from the wrist below a red-gloved hand. The pressure she felt against her spine told her his second arm was cradling her around her back.

“Hang on, we’re almost down,” a familiar voice said, raised above the wind.

“Kurusu-senpai?” she gasped. Only her shock had made it take even that long to recognize him; the hair should have been her first clue.

With a brief lurch and the solid thuds of two booted feet, they came to a stop. A flick of his wrist brought the wire reeling back into his sleeve. She stared up at him unblinking, and his grey eyes fell to her. Mask or not, there was no mistaking those; even the hint of mischief could not dull their familiarity.

“Sorry about that,” he said, a little sheepishly. A nagging thought told her he should have been tugging at his bangs, which just led her to realize that both his arms were now occupied. With her. In a bridal carry.

Sumire felt her cheeks growing warm. A squeak began emanating from her throat, which rose in pitch like a kettle boiling on the stove. Her face kept getting hotter, and didn’t seem to want to stop. At this rate, she was sure her glasses would melt. Then she remembered: the glasses she wore were actually his, and that was the last straw her overwhelmed head could take. She pried open her hands where they had been fisted against his chest, and awkwardly tried to push herself out of his arms.

He managed to resist her thrashing enough to set her down gently on her own two feet, one red-gloved hand at her elbow to hold her steady when her legs threatened to give out.

Desperate to regain her composure – which at the moment required looking anywhere but at him – Sumire threw her wide-eyed gaze about. It became instantly apparent they were somehow no longer in the gym. They stood in the middle of a wide, circular stone floor, with a tile mosaic of the Shujin emblem beneath their feet. At the edge of the open space, they were surrounded by dozens of figures wearing clothes vaguely reminiscent of the school uniform. Every single one was staring at them.

“Senpai? Where are we?”

Before he could answer, there was a shout from behind. “Joker!”

Sumire’s eyes were drawn to the sound, where she saw three figures half-running, half-jumping down an ornate marble stairway. The voice that shouted was obviously the boy wearing black pants and a padded black jacket, with a red ascot and yellow gloves. He too wore a mask, beneath a head of bleached hair.

“Are you two okay?” The second figure running towards them, strikingly feminine even before she spoke, was… red. Very, very red. Sumire was not unfamiliar with clothes designed to be form-fitting, but this was… something else. She wore a full-length latex bodysuit, red running all the way from crimson heels to her catlike mask. The only gaps were the exposed skin of her face and upper chest, and pink-gloved hands, one of which held a coiled whip.

“…Takamaki-senpai?” Sumire gaped.

Two turquoise eyes blinked at her, and then the other girl gave her a radiant smile. “Hehe, yep. How’d you know?”

“Your hair. And eyes. And your smile. But mostly the hair.” And now she was rambling. Under the circumstances, she considered that positively benign. For the first time she could remember, Sumire wasn’t sure how it could get worse. She wasn’t even entirely sure what “it” was anymore. The world had gone mad. Or maybe, at long last, _she_ had.

“Joker, why in the world did you bring her here?!” The voice was unfamiliar, and came from the smallest of the three figures that had rushed to join them in the center of the room. She wasn’t sure whether to classify it as a small, cat-like human, or a vaguely humanoid cat. Either way, the pattern of its fur was somehow familiar, as was the shade of its oversized bright blue eyes.

“Morgana-san?” All four of the others turned to look at her, at that.

“Huh. That’s a new reaction,” the bleach-blonde boy said, grinning. His brow furrowed behind his mask. “Wait. Don’t tell me I’m the only one you don’t recognize? She even knew the cat!”

“I am not a cat!”

“She’s never _met_ you, Skull,” Takamaki-senpai said, twin tails bobbing as she shook her head. “No cognition, either, remember?”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.”

The buzzing in her head was getting worse. Her knees felt weak. At that point, only the steady hand at her elbow was keeping Sumire upright. She turned, and almost gagged when her vision kept spinning even after her body stopped. “Kurusu-senpai, please,” she begged, unable to keep the quaver out of her voice. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“Right now, you’re inside a representation of your own subconscious desires. Metaphorically, your own heart.”

“How’d you even get here, man?” the boy they called Skull asked. “Me ‘n Panther’d been keepin’ an eye on the place from the Treasure spot on the balcony. Mona’d just popped out of the elevator when you came outta nowhere.”

“We entered from the gym, where I found Yoshizawa-san,” Kurusu-senpai explained.

“Oh!” Takamaki-senpai snapped her fingers. “So it’s like when Fox and I came into Madarame’s Palace and showed up right next to the door that had been blocked.”

“That was dangerous, Joker,” Morgana-san said gravely. “You took an incredible risk.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he replied.

Sumire didn’t miss the glance he sent her way. She flinched, trying to ignore the pounding of her head. “I’m so sorry, Senpai. I still don’t know what’s going on.”

Takamaki-senpai laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try to make it make sense right now. It won’t work. Trust me, I know.”

“…you’re all the Phantom Thieves.”

“In the flesh! I’m Skull,” the second boy replied. He was holding a long pipe in one hand, and slapped it into his other with a nervous intensity. “Also known as Ryuji Sakamoto. Nice t’ meet ya!”

“It’s really not the time to be bragging,” Takamaki-senpai commented wryly, shooting him a look that was both exasperated and amused.

“We’ve got a bigger problem,” Morgana-san said. “The Treasure’s gone.”

Kurusu-senpai frowned, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “That complicates things. I… kind of gave her a calling card.”

“When’d you have time t’ make one?” Sakamoto-senpai wondered.

“I didn’t. I just kind of… told her.”

“Oh, no. You gave her a calling card, and then brought her inside her own Palace? There’s no telling what kind of effect that will have, especially since her distortion was already uncertain.” Morgana-san sighed, placing both paws against the sides of his black bandana-style mask. “I honestly have no idea how this could get any worse.”

With an ear-ringing slam, a set of doors on the balcony above them were thrown open. Sumire gaped as a pair of figures charged inside, wearing uniforms straight out of a history book on the Napoleonic Wars. She might have described their movements and proportions as comical, except there was nothing the least bit funny about the bayonetted rifles they both bore.

“Mona, when we get out of this, remind me to tell you about Murphy’s Law.”

“Halt, intruders, in the name of Duchess Yoshizawa!” the soldiers shouted at them from above.

Sumire watched with horror as the two soldiers contorted, as if writhing in pain. In an explosion of dark red-black ooze, they were supplanted by a pair of new forms as incongruously different as could be. Two identical, gorgeous women, green-eyed and fair-haired, had taken their place. They wore knee-length green dresses with gold embroidery around the hem. Their bare feet hovered above the ground; both seemed to be held aloft with the aid of translucent wings.

Kurusu-senpai scratched the side of his head with a single red-gloved hand, muttering under his breath. He spoke just loud enough for her to hear. “Right. Because of course there would be fairy godmothers, too.”

“Guys, this is bad,” Morgana-san said. “I’m pretty sure they’re not just after me.”

“Even guests are not permitted to disturb the ball!” one of the women declared. “You will not escape alive!”

“We’ll see about that!” Skull roared. He charged up the stairs towards the balcony, brandishing his pipe two-handed, like a baseball bat.

“Carmen!” Takamaki-senpai shouted. She placed a hand to her face, red mask vanishing in a haze of blue-white flames.

Sumire yelped, stumbling backwards and gracelessly losing her feet. A spectral figure had formed in the air behind the other girl, a purple-skinned woman wearing a voluminous red dress. It was followed by a burst of flame that erupted from beneath one of the green-clad fairies above.

“Skull, take the one on the right!” Kurusu-senpai shouted. “Mona, back him up! Panther, try and keep them apart, I’ll take the one on the left!”

He turned to Sumire, going to one knee in front of her. His eyes were intense, and filled with more feelings than she could possibly describe. “Yoshizawa-san, stay _right here_. We’ll protect you. I promise.” With a swirl of his black tailcoat, he leaped impossibly high, soaring to join the fray.

 _What’s happening? Why am I here?_ Sumire could barely even watch. She tried to follow Kurusu-senpai, even as tears blurred the edges of her vision. _Please,_ _don’t leave me alone._ The pounding in her skull redoubled, going from distracting to distressing. Through the discomfort of the deafening white noise in her head, she thought she could just begin to distinguish the cadence of a voice.

Rhythmic gymnastics was a solitary sport. Once the music started, there was no one there to help you. Even so, Sumire had never been able to rise above the knowledge that, even in the midst of a performance, she was being observed. Judged.

She’d never enjoyed attention, not like Kasumi had. Her sister’s bold routines had always carried a clear message: “Look at me!” Not with vanity or selfishness, but as a physical embodiment of her skill and confidence. “I am worth looking at,” her style had said, shouting without words in a way that Sumire had always heard, as clear as day, from the first time they’d taken the floor as children.

Sumire knew her own style had a voice, too. Coach Hiraguchi had often praised her grace, but to Sumire, even that was just a product of fear. _Don’t_ forget. _Don’t_ mess up. _Don’t_ make one wrong move. Judges, spectators, even her parents… it didn’t matter. Any eyes on her were a distraction, like spiders walking across the back of her neck. Every tumble and twirl, every flip and spin, all were executed with a desperate precision. Sumire couldn’t be the best, but at least she could be _not wrong_.

Sometimes, it felt like her entire life had been defined that way, following a script and just hoping not to stumble while reading it back. Kasumi had had passion. Sumire only had bone-deep dread of being left behind. No matter what she tried, no matter how hard she worked, always there was the terror, and the terror always, always won.

_That’s not true._

Sumire blinked. Of course, there was the exception that proved the rule. She was not utterly bereft of talent, accomplishment, or even the odd success. But her best routines had never come down to pressure, or training, or having an audience. Not even celebratory ice cream. To Sumire, the only thing that had ever mattered was whether or not her sister was there to see.

Coach Hiraguchi had been half-right. Sumire’s growth spurt had thrown her off, exacerbated by her own self-doubt, but that was behind her now. For months, Sumire had been struggling, not with a changing body or a lack of self-confidence or skill, but instead to accept the fact that Kasumi would never be there to see her, ever again.

 _So why am I here?_ Despairing, she raised her head.

The Phantom Thieves were still fighting. Still struggling. Sumire had only the barest notion of what was going on, but one thing was clear: they were not winning. Takamaki-senpai’s fireballs were growing weaker, even as each one she threw was more determined than the last. Sakamoto-senpai was flailing like a berserker, never giving himself or his opponent a moment’s respite. Morgana-san was a tiny black blur, splitting his time between summoning gusts of wind and waves of light that mended the others’ wounds. They moved as a team, as if in time to music that only they could hear. Seeing them together reminded her just a bit of her best performances on the floor. But impressive though they were, if Sumire wanted to see her greatest strength as a gymnast embodied in another’s motion, it was Akira that drew her eyes.

He did not move. He _flowed_. He was constantly in motion, every jump and step precise. He attacked every opening before it even appeared. Every strike against him found him already shifting away. If his allies needed help, then he was already there.

Even then, it wasn’t enough.

“Watch out!” he shouted, backflipping off the rail. Skull and Mona both followed, jumping from the balcony. All three had narrowly avoided their opponents’ simultaneous counterstrike. The four thieves retreated to the central floor, backing up warily. When they neared Sumire, she could hear their heavy breathing, and see their half-healed injuries.

“We’re in trouble,” Morgana-san said.

“Tch.” Sakamoto-senpai grimaced, hands flexing around his pipe. “These two just won’t go down.”

“Are we even hurting them, Mona?” Takamaki-senpai asked.

He shook his head. “Not really,” he replied.

The two fairies were advancing on them, slowly flying over the stairs. They’d just reached the small landing halfway down.

Kurusu-senpai’s mouth was set in a grim line. “As soon as they’re on this level, I’m going to distract them. You three take Yoshizawa-san. Use the stairs behind us, get to the balcony, and run.”

“Joker, that’s effin’ crazy!”

“We barely held them off together!” Takamaki-senpai exclaimed, eyes wide. “You think you can beat them alone?”

“I don’t need to beat them, I just need to buy some time. I’ll follow as soon as you’re clear.”

A murmur rose amongst the crowd of strange spectators still lining the edge of the floor. “They stopped,” Sakamoto-senpai said. “Wha…?” His voice faded beyond her hearing with a sudden wave of pain. Sumire couldn’t suppress a strangled cry as her head gave an excruciating throb.

“Oh, no…” Morgana-san gasped.

Sumire forced her eyes to open. The group had spun about to look behind them; their eyes were wide with fear. Sumire turned to follow their stares.

Two new figures were descending the set of stairs behind them, cutting off their escape. There was a man dressed in uniform, pristine white from head to toe. His chest was adorned with golden braids and buttons, and a saber hung at his hip. His black hair was a rakish tousle.

“Joker, that’s—!”

“Me. Or at least my cognition. I’ve been wondering when he’d show up.”

The second figure was a woman, lithe and beautiful. She wore a dress of pale lavender, so light and flowing it seemed almost like a living cloud, billowing below her waist with every step. Her bodice was slightly darker, almost purple, lined with delicate white flowers above her shoulders and bust. Tied up with a pale pink ribbon, a ponytail of russet hair flowed to the middle of her back.

Pain forgotten, tears flowing freely, Sumire breathed a single word. “Kasumi…?”

A pair of golden eyes focused on Sumire, an achingly familiar beauty mark beneath the left. It was a sight she’d never dared to hope for, after more than two agonizing, lonely months. Her sister smiled at her. Kasumi’s mouth moved, but made no sound. Sumire felt like her head was being ripped open, but she couldn’t bear to look away.

“Mona?”

“It’s a Shadow, no mistake. But…”

“She ain’t attackin’.”

“I know. I think she’s actually—”

“The Shadows behind us! Watch out!”

The clamor of battle was raised anew, so close now Sumire could feel every gust of wind and wave of heat. The ends of her fingers tingled with bolts of lightning. The tears on her cheeks froze with bursts of ice. Sumire didn’t care.

“Try and draw them off! We can’t fight this close to—”

The others’ voices were lost to her as her head gave another tear-wrenching throb.

Kasumi was staring at her. Her mouth began to move, but Sumire did not hear the words so much as feel them, each syllable like a clap of thunder echoing inside her head. _The twelfth bell is tolling. Are you to be just a spectator, now?_ The voice was clear, but strange. Not her sister’s. Not her own. It was both at once, and neither, both familiar and not. _You’ve hidden beneath the ashes for so long. You fear that if you wash them off, you’ll have no excuse if you fail to shine_.

“Don’t ask me to be you,” Sumire sobbed. “That was your dream, wasn’t it? To succeed on the international stage.”

 _Don’t let go of things that are precious to you._ Kasumi’s smile was gentle and fond.

“I can’t do it! Not without you! _How can we succeed when there is no ‘we’?!_ ”

In a single instant, the pain in her head vanished. Her eyes flew wide, heart thudding madly in her chest. For the first time in two months, Sumire Yoshizawa breathed free air.

It hadn’t been Kasumi’s dream. At least, not hers alone. “Our dream,” she gasped, fresh tears flowing hotly down her cheeks. “Not yours. Yours and mine. But…”

_The slipper might fit, or it might not. Only you can choose to try it on._

A blast of force – so close, too close – sent Sumire tumbling across the floor. With a half-heard clatter, Kurusu-senpai’s glasses were sent flying from her head. She winced, raising her head as she struggled to her hands and knees. Takamaki-senpai was on the ground nearby, blinking dazedly at the ceiling. Sakamoto-senpai was sprawled out on her other side, only just forcing himself back to his feet. Morgana-san was lying prone, tiny form barely moving with each breath.

Kurusu-senpai alone still stood, gritting his teeth. His storm-grey eyes were a tempest of determined will. His friends needed him… but he knew he might fail. Watching him, she knew, too.

Without hesitation, he charged.

Sumire watched in admiration. Her heart was so full, she felt it might burst. “Don’t let go of things that are precious to you.” It seemed that he agreed.

Before, he was handsome. Now, he was beautiful. Seeing him in motion, Sumire finally realized what Coach Hiraguchi had been talking about; what she had been trying to tell her that day at practice. This was no routine. This was no performance.

Suddenly, desperately, she wanted to dance for _him_.

Sumire turned, the sound of laughter ringing like bells inside her mind. Once more, Kasumi was looking at her. Even from this distance, Sumire could see the amusement in her smile. _Of course, silly me. You never did like to show off for your own sake. As you like it, then; you know what you have to do._

To her own surprise, Sumire did.

 _At last!_ Kasumi cheered. _I am thou, thou art I… Are you prepared for your debut? The ball awaits._

A strange, unfamiliar sensation had appeared upon her head where Kurusu-senpai’s glasses had been. Her fingertips traced the edges of a mask, its smooth planes sweeping up and back in delicate curves, which ended in rounded points. It had no weight, and did not touch her face, yet it adhered to her skin – and, she somehow knew, to everything behind it. It was as if it were a part of her that she had simply never seen before.

Her fingers curled around the edges of the mask, right above her eyes. She pulled. It hurt, like her tongue prodding the root of a baby tooth that wasn’t quite loose. Like that tooth, this mask was a part of her that had to be removed to make way for something new. Irresistible instinct demanded no less, driving strength into her grip. She pulled harder.

Sumire had thought no pain could surpass the earlier torment inside her head, but here and now, as her fingers tightened and her arms began to tense, she felt something on an entirely different level. Her unyielding guilt and bottomless self-loathing were like barbed hooks anchored deep within her flesh, refusing to let go. She pulled harder, knuckles aching with the effort.

It hurt, like every nerve in her body was fraying at their ends. No headache or cramp, no rolled ankle or muscle strain, no dislocated joint or broken bone could possibly compare. She pulled _harder_. The mask remained. It was all her private fears, all her depression and despair, even the soul-deep torment of the blame she’d cast upon herself for her sister’s death. She _pulled harder_ , arms trembling with the strain.

 _I never blamed you_ , Kasumi whispered, voice clear in spite of the pain. _And I’d do the same thing all over again. You were worth it, to me. You just need to be worth it, to you._

With a surge of searing agony, the skin beneath the mask began to tear. Sumire screamed. It was like pulling a splinter from her own eye, a nail from her skull, a sword from her heart. With every ounce of strength she could summon, _she pulled harder_.

It hurt. Bright red blood flowed.

The mask came free.

A pillar of azure flame erupted, rising high enough to buffet the chandelier that hung above the floor. White-blue fire consumed her, but Sumire felt only a cleansing heat. That, and relief. It filled her, like a bottle of ice-cold water after hours of practice routines on the floor. It was blessed. Sweet. Soul-deep.

The flames faded. Sumire Yoshizawa stood proud and upright, rapier in her red-gloved hand. “I’m done _performing_. I choose to _dance_ , _Cendrillon!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can take no credit for the chapter title. It's from the novelization of _your name._ by Makoto Shinkai.
> 
> Yes, the guard Shadows are a pair of Titanias. You thought I was going to drop all these other Cinderella references and not make a "fairy godmother" joke?


	9. Violet

In the wake of Sumire’s declaration, the silence that descended was absolute.

Everyone around her seemed to have stopped moving. Her sister and the strange white-clad copy of Kurusu-senpai. The two blonde fairies. The crowd of masked Shujin students lining the edge of the room. Even the Phantom Thieves and the real Kurusu-senpai were frozen where they stood. Each and every one of them was staring, their eyes on her.

Sumire felt… at ease. She was on the dance floor, after all.

“That’s enough!” she shouted. She glared at the two barefoot women in green dresses, brandishing her sword. _Wait… why do I have a sword?_

 _Just roll with it_ , Kasumi’s voice whispered, half laughing inside her head.

Sumire pushed the thoughts aside. “I won’t let you hurt my friends!”

For a long moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.

As one, the two fairies bowed their heads and curtseyed, dipping so low their feet touched the ground. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

A chorus of whispering burst forth from the crowd surrounding her. Dozens of voices filled the silence, with tones ranging from urgent to surprised.

“Who is she?”

“Milady…?”

“It’s the duchess! She’s come at last!”

The murmurs rose, and crested, the shock of the onlookers almost palpable within the room. Sumire blinked in astonishment as the spectators began to show deference to her. One by one, the ladies curtseyed. The gentlemen next to them bowed. Even as they did so, they began to disappear. A few at first, then more at once, they faded into black wisps accompanied by a muted, sizzling hiss. Confusion growing, Sumire spun about. She felt her eyes widening with worry, until they landed on Kasumi’s face.

From the landing up the nearest flight of stairs, her sister smiled down at her, head tilted fondly to one side. The kind gaze eased her worry, but Sumire still couldn’t help but gape in bafflement.

Kasumi’s smile widened. She placed her hands on her hips. “What? Are you expecting _me_ to curtsey, too?”

Not a memory. Not a dream. It wasn’t her imagination, or a strange, jumbled echo inside her head. It was her sister’s voice, bold and clear, right down to the teasing lilt. Sumire felt her lower lip begin to tremble at the familiar sound.

Grabbing two handfuls of her lavender skirt, Kasumi rushed down the steps. “Oh, don’t do that,” she admonished. “You know when you cry it always sets me off, too!”

“Kasumi…” she whimpered. She ran across the floor. She didn’t stop until she had nearly tackled her sister, wrapping her arms around her, dress and all.

Her legs felt weak. Arms tightening around the purple dress, Sumire buried her face against her sister’s neck. She felt the little cloth flowers adorning her sister’s bodice crumpling, as her own shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“I warned you!” Kasumi halfheartedly grumbled. Her voice was noticeably thick. She sniffled. “There go the waterworks.”

The sisters held one another until their tears began to fade.

Sumire felt a soothing hand begin to stroke the back of her head. “You put your hair up. I kind of like it. Even if it does make you a copycat.”

With great reluctance, she pulled away. “I figured you’d say that.”

Kasumi smirked, reaching one hand up to flick at something behind Sumire’s ear. “I never had a black ribbon, though. That’s all you.”

Sumire blinked. She turned her head, grabbing for the mentioned tie in her hair. She found it was just as her sister said: a ribbon of midnight black, held right there in a red-gloved hand.

“Err…” Sumire managed, blinking and shaking her head.

Her Shujin uniform had vanished. She now had on a long black overcoat, with ruffles at the ends of the sleeves. Gold buttons lined the sides of the open vest, over a strapless black leotard. Her legs were wrapped in thigh-high sheer black hose, and she wore heeled shoes with ballet laces. Sumire twisted back and forth, sending the long tails of her coat to swaying. At her hip was a scabbard on a thin chain belt, clasped to her waist with an intricate silver rose.

Sumire sighed. She put a hand to her face, and felt the weightless mask that now rested there. “It says something about my day that this is _not_ the strangest thing I’ve seen.” Several sets of footsteps approached. She looked up, and realized that the room was now nearly empty. Only she, her sister, and the four Phantom Thieves remained.

“Welp,” Sakamoto-senpai said, grinning as he scratched the back of his head. “So that happened.”

Takamaki-senpai’s distinctive eyes were looking at her with concern. “Are you feeling okay, Yoshizawa-san?”

Sumire nodded. “I’m a bit tired. But I can’t remember the last time I felt this good. It’s been…” She glanced at her sister. “…a while, I suppose.”

“Awakening to a Persona is exhausting. Being ‘a bit tired’ is impressive.”

She looked at the tiny figure who had just spoken. “I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but… what are you, Morgana-san?”

He crossed his tiny arms, adopting an imperious expression that was far beyond his stature. “I am a peerless thief, and an expert on the Metaverse.”

“Self-proclaimed,” Sakamoto-senpai quipped.

“You wanna fight, Skull? I’ll show Yoshizawa-san how it’s done, right here!”

“You can ignore those two when they’re like this,” Takamaki-senpai said, rolling her eyes with a faint smile. “What Mona called the Metaverse, that’s where you’re at right now. This place is called a Palace, a representation of distorted desires.”

Sumire looked away from the ongoing argument. She glanced back and forth between Takamaki-senpai and Kurusu-senpai, who was watching her silently. “And you all are the Phantom Thieves. So… Is this what you did to Kamoshida?” She bit the inside of her bottom lip, glancing nervously at her new attire. “Did you do the same thing to me?”

Kurusu-senpai shook his head firmly. “No.” He glanced at Kasumi. “To be honest, I’m actually not sure _what_ we did. If anything.”

“I have a theory,” Morgana-san said, abandoning whatever dispute he had with Sakamoto-senpai. “I’m sorry to say it bluntly, but… this isn’t really your sister."

Sumire glanced at Kasumi. The voice and her style of speech… her face and hair… even her posture and mannerisms… It was utterly familiar, but Sumire wasn’t blind. Her sister’s eyes had been brown, not luminescent gold. “I know.” She smiled, but couldn’t help the faint tinge of sadness she felt, as well.

“Chin up, Red,” Kasumi said.

Sumire gave a watery giggle. “You _know_ I hate it when you call me that.”

Kasumi said nothing more. She just put her hands on her hips and grinned.

“She’s what we call a Shadow,” Morgana-san went on. “Your Shadow, to be specific. A part of yourself you didn’t want to see… or maybe _couldn’t_ , in your case.”

“I…” Sumire looked at the ground. She felt the fabric of her gloves creak as she clenched her fists, and gathered her resolve. “I wasn’t in a good place, even before my sister died. I was struggling, and didn’t know how to fix it, or even ask for help. It just kept getting worse, until one day I just… couldn’t, anymore. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but I ran into the street without looking. I would have been killed, but Kasumi…” she glanced up, holding her sister’s gaze. “She saved me. And died to do it.

“It broke something, inside of me. I’ve never been particularly… confident. But I lost sight of the fact that I had even been a part of the dream my sister and I shared. For a while, I thought I could just… take her place.” She shook her head. “But that’s obviously impossible. Eventually, I… gave up. I believed the only thing left would be to let her dream die with me, before I utterly failed to see it through.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She looked up sharply at her sister. “You are? Why?”

“Because you were hurting, and I didn’t see. Because you still are, and I won’t be there to help the way I should. But most of all? Because I’m your big sister, and I will always, always care. I love you, Sumire. And I always will.”

The light in Kasumi’s eyes was spreading, her entire body appearing to glow. Sumire rushed to her, grabbing her hands, even as they began to grow translucent. “Kasumi! I love you, too.”

“Don’t start crying again, or I’ll never stop!” she chided, her tone wry. As the light grew more intense, even her voice was becoming indistinct. “It’s not goodbye, after all. You saw to that. Even if you can’t always hear my voice, you’ll never forget our dream.”

The brightness was nearly blinding, but Sumire refused to so much as blink. Even when she could no longer feel her sister’s hands, the warmth of them lingered on her gloves. It spread through her entire body, like basking in sunlight, as Kasumi’s silhouette grew indistinguishable within the gleam. Finally, even that began to disappear. It shattered, fading piece by piece. It was like standing inside a kaleidoscope: a million motes of rainbow light, slowly vanishing. But even then Sumire could feel them, warming her from within. A new strength inside of her; a new voice within her heart. A soothing rightness, where before there had only been doubt. As if by instinct she knew its name, and as before, that it would respond to her call. _Cendrillon_.

Eyes closed, head tilted back, Sumire breathed deep, in and out. She felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder.

“I was glad to meet her, even if it was only for a little while.”

“Thank you, Senpai. For everything.” Sumire turned to him. For the first time that she could remember, she really, truly smiled.

“Oh. My. God,” Takamaki-senpai gasped.

Sumire turned to her in alarm. “What?”

The older girl didn’t look scared. Rather, she was staring at Kurusu-senpai. There was a tremendous grin on her face, growing larger by the moment. Hands on her hips, she bent at the waist, leaning into his personal space as though she were trying to peek beneath his mask. “I don’t believe it. It finally happened!” She stood straight and laughed, turning to Sumire. “Yoshizawa-san, you just accomplished something I haven’t managed in a month. You actually made Joker _blush_.”

Sumire blinked, automatically looking at Kurusu-senpai. There might have been a hint of color on his cheeks, or it might have been a trick of the light. It was hard to tell for sure. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—”

Takamaki-senpai interrupted her by throwing an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t apologize. You know the first thing he said to me when he saw this outfit?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at herself. “’Calm down.’ Can you imagine? I was beginning to think there wasn’t anything that could get a reaction out of him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d planned out this whole thing, from bringing you into the Palace all the way to letting you see your sister again.”

“Of course,” Kurusu-senpai replied easily. He was tugging that same stray lock of his bangs.

Sumire tried to hide a giggle behind her hand. “You’re nervous, Senpai.”

Takamaki-senpai grinned. “Did you even know entering from the gym would bring you to the ballroom?”

He shot her a look, busying himself with adjusting his gloves. “Give me some credit, at least.”

“Y’know, Mona, there’s one thing I don’t get.”

Morgana-san smirked up at Sakamoto-senpai. “Just one?”

“I thought you said Persona-users can’t have Palaces.”

“Well, I can explain that. You see…” He trailed off. With a faint rumble, the ground beneath them began to shake. “…they can’t.”

Sumire glanced about in apprehension. “An earthquake? Here?”

Kurusu-senpai shook his head. “I hate this part,” he muttered. “Everybody, run!”

_**\- - Take Your Time - -** _

“Hard to believe it’s already the middle of June, huh? Three months since you got here. Time flies.”

Akira shook the water from his hands before turning off the faucet in Leblanc’s kitchen sink. He grabbed a towel to dry his hands the rest of the way. “Getting nostalgic, Boss? What’s next, a rant about ‘kids these days’?”

Sakura-san – no, _Sojiro_ -san, he’d insisted – scoffed at him. “Don’t tempt me. I let you and your friends throw that little party yesterday, even let the tall one crash here overnight, and this is how you pay me back?”

“No, I just spent Sunday afternoon doing your dishes,” Akira smirked. “That’s how I paid you back.”

“Damn right. Those all done?”

He nodded. “The pot from yesterday, too. It’s a bit big to dry in the sink, though.”

“Grab a clean towel and put it on the table by the stairs in your room.”

Akira did as instructed. While he was upstairs, he took a moment to remember the day before, when he, Ryuji, Ann, Morgana, and Yusuke had spent the evening celebrating Madarame’s change of heart. It had been a night of sharing hot pot and stories in the wake of the Phantom Thieves’ latest victory, the memory still fresh enough to bring a smile to his face.

The bell downstairs rang. Akira headed back; he’d promised to help Sojiro-san out for the day, and meant to keep his word. The banter was just part and parcel with the apron he wore.

Akira stopped short at the base of the stairs, as soon as he realized who Leblanc’s newest (and at present, only) customer was.

“Oh, there he is. Hey, looks like another one of your school friends came by.”

“I’m terribly sorry to intrude,” Yoshizawa-san said, bowing to Sojiro. “My name is Sumire Yoshizawa. I hope I’m not disrupting your business.”

“Not at all. And there’s no need to be so formal, though it’s nice to see the kid’s picked up another good influence to follow.” He glanced at Akira, smirking a little. “You didn’t tell me you had two girls from school willing to give you the time of day. You must be doing something right.”

“Just following your example, Boss,” Akira replied.

Sojiro grinned, looking at Sumire over his shoulder. “Don’t let him smooth-talk you like that, young lady.”

She smiled a little. “Kurusu-senpai has been very kind to me. But I will keep that in mind.”

“Well, I need to grab a cigarette and restock a few things from the grocery store. Can I trust you not burn the place down for the next fifteen minutes?”

“You can trust her not to let me if I try.”

The old man laughed. “Good enough for me. Just stay downstairs if it’s only the two of you, okay? I’ll flip the sign closed while I’m out so you kids can talk.”

“Thank you very much,” Yoshizawa-san said, bowing as he left. Sojiro simply waved over his shoulder, the bell ringing as the door shut behind him.

“Take a seat wherever,” Akira offered. “Would you like something to drink?”

“The coffee smells wonderful,” she replied, smoothing out her shorts as she slid into a bench of the middle booth. “I’d love to try it.”

Akira got to work behind the counter. “So what brings you by?”

“Takama—” she stopped herself. “Sorry, Ann-senpai told me I could find you here.”

“Still breaking the habit, huh?”

She studied her folded hands atop the table. “I’m so grateful for how kind you and your friends have been.”

“They’re eager to be your friends, too, you know,” he said, pouring out fresh coffee into the cup on the counter. “Or at least Ann certainly seems to be. I’m pretty sure she wants to adopt you, though that may be because she has to hang out with Ryuji and me all the time.”

“And Morgana-san?”

“ _Especially_ Morgana.”

She smiled a bit. “He does seem rather taken with her, I’ve learned.” She glanced around. “Is he here?”

“Out and about the neighborhood at the moment. He doesn’t always hang around when I’m just helping out in the café.” He stepped around the counter, placing her coffee on the table. He stepped back, leaning against the side of the opposite bench.

“Hm.” Yoshizawa-san nodded, taking a sip. “Oh. That is good.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Kurusu-senpai? Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. You just did.”

She gave him a look over the rim of her glasses.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

She took another sip, eyes remaining on the cup when she set it back down on the saucer. “Did I… do something wrong?”

He blinked, caught off-guard by the worry in her voice that she couldn’t quite disguise. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

She hid her clasped hands under the table, but he could tell by the shifting of her shoulders and arms beneath her polka-dot blouse that she was wringing them. “Your friends have been very welcoming, as I said. But you’ve barely spoken to me for two weeks.”

Akira scuffed his boot across the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry. After that day, everyone else seemed to think you joining the Phantom Thieves was _fait accompli_. I wanted to give you some time. To not put pressure on you. I ended up ignoring you instead, didn’t I?”

“I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, Senpai,” she replied, showing only the faintest hint of relief. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure, on one condition.”

She glanced up, head tilted in silent inquiry.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Never think you need my permission to ask me something again. I said you’re my friend. I meant it.”

Her smile in response was tentative. “Why do you think I wouldn’t want to join your team?”

Akira considered that. “Do you mind if I sit?” he asked. She nodded, and he slipped into the bench across from her. “Just because you have the same abilities we do doesn’t mean you’re beholden to us for anything, and I didn’t want to presume. You’ve already been through a lot the last few months, for one. You didn’t ask us to get involved or do what we did, for another. And I remember what you said to me about changing hearts, Kamoshida’s in particular.”

She nodded, taking another sip of coffee as she considered his words carefully. “I stand by what I said, then. But I do watch the news, and I’ve heard a little bit about Madarame-san from Kitagawa-kun. I also know enough about your abilities now to say that you are both doing the best you can, and you are doing an unquestionable good.”

“I’m happy to hear you say that.”

She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled. “It might come as a surprise, but my friends’ opinions do matter to me. Yours in particular,” he added, giving her the faintest hint of a smirk. “You seem to have a knack for calling me out when I need it most.”

She frowned. “Don’t try to flatter me, Senpai.”

“Case in point.” Her frown turned into a pout. He tried not to smile too much.

“I can see why Ann-senpai finds you so frustrating at times.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret: vexing her is half the fun,” he stage-whispered. “Her heart’s in the right place, though.”

“I can’t really argue with that. She’s very hard not to like,” Yoshizawa-san replied. She glanced away, a little color rising to her cheeks. “But she’s also not quite as subtle as she thinks.”

“If she’s making you uncomfortable, you can tell her. Trust me, she’ll understand,” he said. “Or if you prefer, I can say something without mentioning you. I _can_ be subtle.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled a bit. “I believe that. But no, it’s okay. I’ll probably need to get used to it if I join you, after all.”

Akira tried not to let it show how anxious that comment made him. “So you are considering it, then?”

She took another thoughtful sip. “That depends.”

“You need the sales pitch?” he asked. “The hours are terrible, the benefits are worse, and the pay is lucrative but also makes no rational sense. I’m afraid mortal peril is guaranteed.”

“I see,” she replied gravely. “I’ve heard it’s important to ask about potential coworkers.”

“Well, you’ve already mentioned Ann, of course. Otherwise, you’ll be working with someone who looks like a delinquent, an actual delinquent, an eccentric, and a talking cat.”

She sat back, holding the saucer in her left hand and taking another drink with her right. She nodded. “I suppose you can’t be particular when working in such an exclusive field. There is one point of the benefits package I was curious about.”

He held up both hands in a welcoming gesture. “Ask away.”

“Joker. Mona. Skull. Panther,” she recited. “You all were very deliberate about using those aliases inside my Palace, so I assume they’re not just idle fancy.”

“Using our real names inside the minds of distorted individuals just doesn’t seem prudent,” Akira explained. “It’s a ‘better safe than sorry’ thing, for the most part.”

“Who chooses the names?”

“There’s no formal process,” Akira admitted. “Mona picked mine. Skull picked Mona’s. Yusuke’s name is Fox, which I suggested, and Panther came up with her own.”

She set down her saucer and cup. She adjusted them absently, not looking at him. “And if I asked you to choose mine?”

He thought for a moment. “Red.”

Her face froze, but her eyes snapped up. She glared at him over the edge of her glasses. “I didn’t even let Kasumi get away with that. You just used your one mulligan, Senpai.”

Akira smiled. “Noted.”

She relaxed a bit, running her finger around the edge of her porcelain cup. “Two months ago, I would have willingly given up my own identity, nevermind my name, to fulfill a distorted version of my sister’s dream. Two weeks ago, I was prepared to give up my life, just so I wouldn’t fail at something I mistakenly thought I needed to do.”

“You also realized both mistakes all on your own,” he reminded her, “and any outside help you had in fixing them was a lucky accident more than anything.”

“Maybe so. But I still can’t help but wonder how that reflects on my judgement.”

Akira realized then that the two of them had just been having a pair of very different conversations. It seemed he wasn’t the only member of the Phantom Thieves that was gifted with subtlety. “…you’re not _really_ asking about code names. Are you?”

Her gaze fell. “No. No, I don’t suppose I am.”

He folded his hands beneath his chin, and kept his voice deliberately soft. “I can’t tell you whether or not to join the Phantom Thieves, Yoshizawa-san. All I can do is say that there is certainly a place for you, if you want it.”

He could see her jaw work as she began to bite the inside of her bottom lip. “How can I even know whether to trust what I want, anymore?”

“Your Palace is gone, and that is thanks to your own resolve, far more than anything else. The decision you face isn’t one that anyone else can make for you. Your heart is your own.” He placed his clasped hands down on the table. “I will say this. If you do join, you will be our teammate and equal, no questions asked. And if you don’t join us… well, I won’t speak for the others. But I, at least, will still be your friend, on the exact same terms.”

Yoshizawa-san looked up. She was quiet for a long moment. “Then, even if I don’t join the Phantom Thieves… Could you… call me by my name? Please?”

“Of course,” he said. “Sumire-san.”

Her eyes were once more fixed on her empty coffee cup, but she wore a fleeting smile. “It’s strange. A part of me was relieved not to know anyone at school very well. I was always ‘Yoshizawa-san’ or ‘the honor student.’ Either of those could have just as easily been Kasumi. But now, hearing you say it… I didn’t think I could ever be so happy just to know someone was talking to _me_ , and not wishing I were someone else.”

“I can understand that. At this point, I feel like I hardly ever hear my own name aloud since I moved to Tokyo. It seems everyone’s got a different nickname for me.”

“I can’t imagine what gives you that impression, Senpai.” Her face was composed, but her eyes were positively glittering with amusement.

He chuckled. “Well played.”

“Thank you.” She glanced away, studying the rows of jars stacked behind the counter. “And… Hypothetically speaking… If I did join the Phantom Thieves, what would you call me?”

He smirked. “Sumire.”

Her breath might have hitched to hear her name spoken so intimately, without an honorific. But as soon as she caught sight of his expression, she shook her head, bemused. “That was a bad joke, even by your standards, Senpai. You know that’s not what I was asking.”

Akira’s grin widened. “And who says it’s not still the right answer?”

She narrowed her eyes at him while she tried to puzzle that out. It didn’t take long, and her small smile made the wordplay more than worth it. “I see,” she said. “That would fit the pattern, wouldn’t it?”

There had been many moments since he’d arrived in Tokyo where Akira had felt the world around him stop, as though he could perceive it shifting on its axis. His first trip to the Metaverse. Meeting new friends and confidants. The calling cards. Their targets’ confessions. Suddenly, this moment felt as though it had become one such. He schooled his face back into calm neutrality. For some reason, his heart was pounding. “The offer stands,” he said simply.

Sumire studied him. Her face was far from blank, but he could find no single word to describe the look she wore. Hope? Trust? Resolve? All were there, in part. Perhaps faith was the best term, though he wasn’t sure whether it was directed inwards, or at him.

Only the clock ticking away in the corner could testify to the passage of time. At last, she spoke, two simple words that filled Akira with a satisfaction he could scarcely comprehend: "I accept." Like dawn rising over the edge of Tokyo Bay, she smiled. “You can call me Violet.”

Akira slid out of the booth. Standing to face Sumire, he offered her a little bow, as well as a hand up. “Welcome to the Phantom Thieves, Violet.”

“Such a gentleman,” she said, amused.

“A gentleman thief,” he corrected, with a hint of Joker’s grin.

She giggled a little at his air of chivalry. There may have been the faintest hint of a blush, as well. She didn’t need his help, not to stand on her own two feet. And even if she saw through his gallant affectations, Sumire seemed to know what he was truly saying with the offer: I’m here. Simple, generous words, spoken with the eloquence of an outstretched hand.

She took it.

_**\- - Fin. - -** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends _Masquerade_. While some comments have expressed interest in reading beyond the scope of this work, this was always the extent of the story I wanted to tell. I hope those of you reading can find an acceptable resolution in this ending, even if it's not a particularly satisfying one.
> 
> Full-game retellings can be both interesting and powerful, even when incomplete. _Crimson_ , _Going the Distance_ , and _feed your anger like fire_ are just a few here on AO3 I would recommend. (Apologies to the Shumire fandom, but I've not delved too deeply yet to avoid assimilating others' ideas. I have not failed to note the many commenters who have posted stories of their own, however.) 
> 
> But as much as I enjoy reading others' reinterpretations of canon, I hate starting something I'm not sure I can finish. And the thought of doing the same thing myself is... daunting. There's a quote from George R.R. Martin I find very applicable to myself: "I enjoy having written, but writing can be painful." The fifty thousand words you've just read represent the plurality of those I've put from thought to form in almost seven years. But you don't need any more of my rambling at the conclusion of a completed story. Suffice it to say Sumire Yoshizawa is a character that resonates very deeply with me.
> 
> I could exhaust every one of the 5000 characters this note allows repeating my thanks and appreciation for all those who have read this story and expressed their experiences with it, and I would still not come close to fully encompassing the depths of my gratitude. For every hit, kudo, subscription, bookmark, and comment: thank you, one and all.
> 
> Even if all you did was read to the end, there is no more precious compliment a writer can receive.
> 
> " _Don't let go of things that are precious to you, okay?_ "


End file.
